The Seeds of Murder
by Taliym5
Summary: Angelina loves her surrogate family at NCIS, but leaves the murder mysteries to her brother Trent and pursues her studies in London. Her world is shaken once more when her friend is mysteriously murdered and she is framed for the crime. Angel then seeks the help of Sherlock Holmes and Dr.Watson. NCIS also races to her rescue. Can NCIS and Sherlock solve the mystery?
1. Chapter 1: Video chats

I laughed as Tim told me about Tony DiNozzo losing a bet against my brother Trent; Tony was trying to avoid paying my brother back his money, but was failing terribly.

"I can't believe Tony thought he could take down Ziva in a fight." I giggled.

"To be fair; none of us thought Tony would lose so quickly—" Tim stated.

"I did." A voice piped up as Trent's head filled the computer screen next to Tim McGee. I smirk at my brother; we were twins but looked nothing alike. Trent had black hair sheared short and was a foot taller than me and built like a wrestler; while I was frailly built as 5'2'' and had auburn ringlets. The only thing we shared in common was our olive skin tone, nose, and we both had dark brown eyes. Even though we were the same age people would think Trent was my older brother. Trent was an intern at NCIS and was happily working with our god father Leroy Jethro Gibbs. I smile to myself; Gibbs was best friends with my family for as long as I can remember… he was always our hero and was now Trent's mentor in the field. Trent was one of the youngest interns in the field; a prodigy who raced through the ranks to NCIS. He was genius in fighting and investigation with his photographic memory and tenacity. I wasn't as corporal as he was; I was studying to be an art curator as I did my watercolor paintings and writings on the side. I was more creative than my brother and couldn't solve math problems or scientific formulas like he could; I was a whiz at history and literature-

"Hey Angel!" Trent tapped the screen with a small smile. "Did you _faze_ out?"

I shook my head to clear it. "Yes. Sorry." I had a photographic memory as well, but I was hyperthymestic: I had the ability to remember every autobiographical detail in my life. Sometimes, when I remember one detail it would connect to another until a whole encyclopedia-full of information crosses my mind and leads me to space out in front of others. It was a disorder I've always had; it worked out well for me usually, but it felt crowded inside my head with my creative ideas and stores of memory that I thought so much it was exhausting.

Abby and Jimmy enter the screen above Trevor and Tim. "Angel!" Abby screeched happily. "I miss you!"

"I miss you too Abby—"

"See I told you she would call." Abbey was bubbling with her usual excitement to Jimmy. Jimmy looked exasperated and I could tell Abby had adopted him to be her temporary companion while I was gone. He had bloodshot eyes behind his rounded spectacles and had a permanent marker drawing of a skull on his neck.

Jimmy mouthed. "Please come home!"

I grin at him mouthed. "Sorry."

Abby looked at me and then at Palmer. "Oh come on, that concert wasn't that bad! Palmer, I need to take you out more."

Jimmy's eyes widen in distress. "N-no Abbe; you don't have to—"

Tony suddenly showed up and pushed McGee over. "Move over McGeek, my turn to chat with Angel."

"Behave Tony." I shook my head at his childish antics.

He grinned at me and asked. "How's London?"

"Great! It's amazing here. Especially the British museum—"

"Ah, every curator's dream."

I nod enthusiastically and see Ziva walk over and kneel beside Tony as Jimmy moved off screen to make room. "Hello Angel, how are you?"

"Great, how are you Ziva?"

"Wonderful, I had a delightful boxing match with Tony…he lost miserably—"

"I only lost because you cheated." Tony grumbled.

Ziva peered at Tony smugly. "I did not know kicking was not allowed in boxing…"

"I doubt that…" Tony hissed suspiciously. "I doubt you would perform a 'nut-cracker' move on anyone else. I could imagine the look on Gibb's face if you socked him there…" Tony started to laugh to himself and I bit my lip as I saw a familiar figure show up behind him. Tony froze at my expression and closed his eyes as Gibbs…well, Gibb-slapped him in the back of the head. "Sorry boss."

"Get off the computer and get back to the case before I take my rifle to it." He gruffly said. Everyone jumped up and raced away except for Abby who smiled innocently at Gibbs. He sat down next to her with his coffee. I beam at him as I chirped. "Hey Uncle Jethro."

"Hey kid, how are you doing up there?" he looked at me with fatherly concern

"Fine."

"You're still carrying that gun I got you?"

"It's in my purse—"

"Make sure the child lock is still on it; who knows what damage she could wreak with that thing." Trent said as he shot pass the screen. "By the way, love ya sis."

"Uh-huh, love you too Trent." I grumbled playfully.

Abby looked over to her right and smiled. "I got to go Angel, promise me you'll take pictures. Bye!" Abbey disappears and Dr. Mallard sits down in her place.

"Good morning Angelina." He smiled good-naturedly.

"Hi Ducky, you were right about the museum; I love it!" I was surprised I would adore being here so much…I thought I would hate to be away from home for so long, but I was actually enjoying myself.

"I'm glad to hear about it, you know the British museum was created—"

"In 1753 and opened in 59 where works of Sloan—"

"Alright you two; we have a murderer to catch." Gibbs not-so-subtly hinted. Ducky chuckled his farewells to me and left. Gibbs stared at me for a moment.

I scoff. "No one's going to kidnap me Gibbs—"

"Yeah, I'm just worried about you kid." He mumbled earnestly as he took a swig from his coffee.

"Don't be; I'm not a little girl anymore, besides, I'm not the one being shot at by murderers and uncovering corpses." I give him a reassuring grin and took my pocket knife out of my boot. "I'm keeping true to rule #9."

"Make sure you keep up with rules #3 and #6." Gibbs told me.

I peer at my purse. "Never be unreachable; my phone is always with me and on 24/7. By the way, you know I always break rule #6. **Sorry** about that."

Gibbs shook his head at me while laughing. "Yeah I'm sure you are."

I shoulder my purse. "I got to go meet a friend of mine; remember Johnny Shaw?"

"The Naval officer; your friend from high school?"

"Mm-hm, he's visiting some family around here, so we planned to meet up. It'll good to see a face from home. Give everyone my love Uncle Jethro, and watch out for Trent. I miss you. Bye!"

I turn off the monitor as Gibbs said. "Love you too Angel."

I put the knife back into my leather high-heel boots. I look in the mirror and straightened out my indigo sundress and buttoned up my black trench coat; it's knee length style and collar was the fashion craze…well my fashion craze. I was excited to see Johnny; he and I were friends ever since middle school. I grab my purse and raced out of my hotel as I headed for the Oxford Street Motel.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reseved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips, which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**This chapter introduces Angelina, our heroine, into the crossover. She is actually the reason for this crossover! You'll find out more how she became involved in the NCIS family and the next chapter will be when she meets Sherlock Holmes and Watson! I hope you all enjoy it and please review because I want to be sure that I'm doing the characters justice. :D**


	2. Chapter 2: Murder

I had trouble getting to the motel due to trying to find the street names; I finally made it and knocked on the motel door. It took a while for Johnny for open the door for me. My smile of excitement wavered as I saw how miserable he looked. He looked different from his pictures he posted on his facebook; he had bags under his eyes and his hair was growing out. He quickly ushered me in and locked the doors. I felt alarmed by his behavior, until he turned around and gave me a hug. "Hey Angelina; it's good to see ya'." His southern accent twanged.

I embraced him back. "It's great to you as well Johnny." I step back and look at him curiously; he seemed nervous and exhausted. "Are you alright?"

Johnny's smile faltered as he lied. "Never better…"

"You're lying." I told him simply. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Johnny chuckled sadly as he threw himself on the sofa. "You always manage to coax people's secrets out of them; so why not?" his face grew haggard. "I came to London because my Uncle Elias has died…he left his estate to my father…"

I sat next to Johnny and took his hand sympathetically. "I'm so sorry Johnny." I knew what it was like to lose family and friends; my grandfather, Thomas, Kate, Jenny…

"Not your fault…" he muttered. "Ya know, my Uncle was in the army…he was pretty secluded and only let me visit him during the summer…he liked me and told me I was his favorite…he was great…Can I tell you something?" he looks at me like he needed some advice.

"Of course, what is it?" I wanted to help him in any way I could.

"Well, last summer, I was sitting with him at breakfast and he was on his computer and got an email…from someone anonymous and I could only read K-K-K and saw a little digital picture of a orange opening up and five little seeds flying out of it. I thought it something funny until my Uncle jumped up and started shouting about someone trying to kill him. He then raced to the attic and went into the crawlspace. The crawlspace was the only place no one was allowed into and he took out a floppy disk with a title of K-K-K. He put it into his computer and started to erase the files on it. He finally took it out and threw it back into the crawl space…he became convince that someone was stalking him and trying to kill him. He drafted his will to leave his estate to my father. Seven weeks later…he went for a walk and didn't return. We found face down in the swimming pool…police were convinced it was suicide…but my Uncle would never want to die…after his funeral my father took over the Horsham estate. One day, he received the same email; orange seeds and all. The email told us to put the floppy disk on the sundial outside by noon. I tried to convince my dad to call the police, but he didn't listen…3 days later he went to visit family and…" my friend gave a shudder. "I got a call from the police and he was found to be hit by a car …his skull was shattered and passed away in the hospital before I could get to him. He left the estate to me…I've been staying here for a few weeks because I couldn't go back…and then…two days ago I got the exact email. There was only one document left on the disk, but I don't know why they want it. The police are looking into it but…I plan on going to talk to Sherlock Holmes."

I embrace my friend to comfort him and remembered the blogs about Sherlock Holmes by Dr. John Watson; Holmes was an eccentric genius and he should be able to help my friend. Johnny hugs me back and sniffs loudly. He suddenly gets up and rubs his neck. "I need a bath…do you mind?"

I shrug. "No, do whatever you need to do Johnny. I'll be right here if you need anything."

Johnny nodded slowly and sighed. "Thanks Angelina." he goes down the hall and into the bathroom. I hear him close the door and start the bathtub. I look at my phone and frown when I saw the battery was low and I had no signal in the room. I took out my sketchbook and created a sketch of orange blossoms that formed a skull. I frown at the drawing and shoved the sketchbook into my purse.

A few moments later I hear something open and then splashing. I look up and wonder if Johnny got out…but wouldn't the splashing happen before the door opened? I felt anxious when I heard the splashing stop and I went into the hallway as I heard something fall over in the bathroom. I saw the door was still closed. I knock and called. "Johnny, you okay?" I pound on the door when he didn't answer. "Johnny?" I finally burst into the bathroom: the window well was opened, a trash bin was overturned, and I gasped in horror at the bathtub. Johnny's head was underneath the water. I raced over to him and lifted his head out of the water and drained the tub. His eyes were shut and his mouth gaped open with water leaking out of it. I noticed a bruise mark of a finger on his collarbone and didn't feel a pulse. I administered CPR and felt the despair grow when he didn't revive. After 3 minutes I shakily grabbed my phone and tried calling…nothing. I look at the window and at my friend; this was no accident. I stare forlornly at Johnny…he was gone.

I shut my eyes and covered my mouth to keep from crying and suddenly heard the front door open. I grab my gun and hold it in front of me; like Jethro taught me as a kid. I lean against the door frame and snapped out hoarsely. "Stop. Or I'll shoot."

I heard the steps pause. "Who the hell are you?" I croaked nervously. I peered around and saw a man with a brown beard, average height, and wore worn, but pristine boots. I also saw he held a glock. I shrieked and slammed the door as I heard a bullet race through the air. I locked the door and ran over to the window: it was seven feet up. I grabbed the trash bin and used it as a step. I scrambled through the tiny window and climbed over the well. I shoved the gun into my purse and sprinted onto the sidewalk. I ran for a block and didn't slow down until I saw a constable. I shrieked. "Help! Please—"

I froze when I saw he was talking to the man I just saw. The man nodded to the officer and the policeman walked up to me. "You're under arrest—"

"What?" I took a few steps back in terror as he continued:

"My mate told me that he saw you at the scene of a murder of Johnathan Shaw and you attacked him. Now hand over that disk and—hey get back here!"

I didn't waste any time as I ran away from the officer and his friend. I heard them behind me, and I took the risk and ran into the street. I managed to dodge some cars, but I had to slide onto the nose of a cab to tumble onto the sidewalk. I remembered the address for Sherlock Holmes: 221B Baker Street, and I ran there as fast as my legs could carry me through the crowded streets.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reseved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips, which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**I know I promised to introduce Sherlock and Watson, but the chapter was longer than I thought. They will definitely be in the next chapter! Sorryz!**


	3. Chapter 3: A New Case

I stumble up the steps of the flat and threw myself on the door in exhaustion. I banged on the door as I anxiously looked around for the officer and his friend. I kept slamming my fist against the door until a kind-looking woman opened it. When she saw me her eyes widened in concern.

"Please," I panted. "Please help me."

The woman let me in and put a comforting arm around me as she locked the door. "Don't worry dearie, you're safe here."

"I-I need to speak to Sherlock—" A gunshot suddenly rung through the flat and I shrieked in alarm as I threw myself on the floor.

The woman fussed and helped me up. "Oh don't worry dear; that's Mr. Holmes. No need to—" Another gunshot went off and I flinched. "By the way my name is Mrs. Hudson dear."

I nod stupidly and let go of my gun that was still concealed in my purse.

Mrs. Hudson called. "Sherlock! There's a young lady here for you." There wasn't an answer until she said. "I believe she has a case—"

I heard someone race toward us and saw a tall, thin man bound down the stairs like a child. I froze in fright as he landed in front of me. He had cold blue-green eyes that seemed to look right through me as he analyzed me.

* * *

Sherlock stopped shooting when he heard 'case'. He rushed out of the room. He was at his wit's end; he didn't care if the case was idiotic or not. He needed something to save him from the deadly boredom. He saw Mrs. Hudson standing next to a small woman. At first glance people would mistake her age, but he could see she was in her early twenties. He smelt vanilla perfume and sweat and knew she had run here as quickly as possible. The dirt on her soles showed that she was desperate to go through lawns to get away; as well as the scrape on her knee: the bits of fine rock showed she tumbled onto a sidewalk and then kept running. She was on Oxford street. She was American; from what he heard in snippets of voice dialect…Southern, but eastern. West Virginia…no, no Virginia he could tell from the way she pronounced her vowels. She was a college student. The bags under her eyes said studious researcher, but her hands' read to be an artist and writer…he saw the British museum faculty card in her purse as well as a gun. He saw the purse was jumbled with other items, but focused on the rest of her. She was in decent shape, but thin…he could tell she hasn't been exercising as much as she did. She wasn't material like other girls he've seen; not that she needed cosmetics to define her large brown eyes. She had soft facial features and mannerisms, but they weren't sheltered: she was distrustful of him with her body language and had to have some experience if she was able to escape someone and come here: especially armed…ah she was concealing a knife in her boot as well…yes, she was experienced. Straight back and calloused finger tips: plays the violin. Shoulders structure shows corporal practice as well as eye for detail…military?

* * *

He was intimidating with his stare and towering height. I felt small and transparent in front of him. I noticed he had burn mark and punctures on his hands, he wore a blue robe so he wasn't expecting to go out, and had a gun in his hand. I paled as he said. "You're an American intern at the British Museum; a curator or artist? Nevermind, you're a curator. You are from Virginia."

I was about to ask how he knew, but remembered he was an expert reductionist. I nod and he looked down at my legs. "Mrs. Hudson; get our guest some wash rags and bandages. Who was chasing you?"

I realized my knee was skinned and bleeding down my leg and into my boots. I tried to get a tissue from my purse, but Holmes grabbed my hand and led me into the sitting room. He sits me down in a chair. "Don't worry about your leg; now tell me who was chasing you?"

I look into his eyes and told him everything; every single detail I remember. I watched as a smile touched his face; having so many details for him must have been like Christmas to him...especially with a case like this. Mrs. Hudson brought me a wash rag, which I cleaned my scrape up and bandaged it up. I saw Holmes pace around the room excitedly, while tugging at his dark brown locks. He finally sat down and placed his fingertips together. He remained silent as he thought and then asked. "What did the shoes look like?"

"Dark brown boots; the laces were the same color but frayed. The toe was rounded, but the bottoms look like they were brand new. Not a speck of dirt." I watch as he stared at the ceiling.

"Eye color?" He asked.

"I couldn't really see…they weren't brown. He was Caucasian, brown buzz cut and beard, and he was wearing latex gloves." I suddenly grabbed a small sketchbook from my purse and began to sketch him out. Holmes watched me curiously until I finished and held it out to him.

He motioned to me. "Bring it to me."

I got up and gave it to him. He examines the picture and rips out for himself. "The policeman?"

"The name tag read Smith…he had blue eyes and black hair. He also has a mole on his neck." I saw the two men clearly in my mind's eye.

Holmes watched me and ordered. "Get me my phone."

I start from my thoughts and ask. "Where is it?"

"My room; upstairs and to your right." He starts looking through my book and I gently take it from him and hold it to my chest.

He raises his eyebrows. I stuttered. "S-sorry, but my sketchbook is like my diary and…let me go get you your phone." I rush upstairs and into his room; wondering why I had to get his phone. I saw the phone on his nightstand and quickly grabbed it. I took a look around the room and saw a laptop on the desk as well as a dissected eyeball on a petri dish. There were stacks of papers everywhere and knew he was an experimenter...must've been why he had all those burn and puncture marks on his hands.

Sherlock went over to her purse as soon as she left. Hmph. Her phone was dead. He saw a few candy bar wrappers at the bottom of her bag…favorite food was dark chocolate. He saw she carried vanilla flavored chapstick…her purse was absolutely disorganized. She must be in a hurry and finds organization as a waste of time. Kindle…fantasy, mystery, and horror stories: enjoys adventure and creativity. Web history shows constant research of artifacts; he was right about her being a curator. Her wallet held American cash and U.K. notes. He saw a family picture: parents, but the father was obviously of no relation, but her expression toward him was open and loving. The young man next to her appeared to be an older brother…no, their body language was almost identical in the picture; they were fraternal twins. The younger boy and two little girls were half-siblings of the stepfather. He saw another picture with a man with grey hair with his arm around her, a goth-dressed woman hugging her, another woman of Jewish-Israeli descent, an older gentleman, and three other young men next to her. Co-workers/friends from the expressions and the setting of an office. The information on the computer screen behind them read NCIS…so she was a part of a Naval Criminal Investigation Service. That explained many things to him. He then saw a folded up piece of paper and opened it:

**_Try to write out some memories that continue to "replay" over and over inside your head and remember we will have another therapy session when you get back_**

**_~Dr. Cranston_**

Holmes folded the paper back up and sat back in his chair. _Yes, this explains everything._

* * *

I go down the stairs and handed Holmes his phone. He looks at my nails. "You paint." He started going through the phone.

I stare at him numbly as he explained. "I see Prussian blue paint powder underneath your nails; watercolor paint is more powder-like when dry—"

I interrupted his deductions with my own question. "Do you think the Klu Klux Klan has anything to do with this?"

Sherlock froze and looked straight at me as I timidly continued. "That's what the initials are for…I see you're researching and…" I shut my mouth in embarrassment; wondering how stupid my theory sounded.

He went back to the phone and researched the Klu Klux Klan. Soon, a creepy smile appeared on his lips. "Yes…a decent observation—" He looks at me questionably as I remained silent. "You do have a name."

I hesitated. "Angelina Garrio."

He curtly nods and tells me. "Back in the 18th and 19th centuries the Klan would send fruit pips as a threat to those that upset their racial ideals…they were known to be behind the times with their beliefs and lack of technology use. Well, I guess they're not anymore seeing that they sent undetectable emails and graphics. I have a feeling the Shaws had a little misunderstanding with a couple Klan members…"

I space out as I remember the stories my grandparents would tell me of the horror stories of the KKK, the documentaries I saw in elementary school, and the Klan members that would hand out fliers. From the stories and 1960 footage; I was terrified of the KKK and the white costumes would haunt my nightmares as a child. Now, even though I believed their beliefs were wrong and unjust, I was glad that the majority of their activities weren't as violent compared to what they use to do…or so I thought.

"So, the police believe you've killed Johnny Shaw." Holmes was waiting for a response; unfortunately I was only able to give him an emotional one.

"Y-yes, I barely got away from them. I knew the officer was trouble when I saw him with the shooter and when he asked for the disk…Please, I don't have a lot of money, but when I get to the states I will pay you anything. Please help me; I'll do anything..." I wiped my tears away in embarrassment. Holmes grabs a tissue and gives it to me. "Thank you, sorry." I sniffed.

Holmes gave me a strange look for apologizing. "Well, you've just seen your friend's corpse and have been unjustly chased and framed, so it's…" Holmes paused to say the right word. "Understandable for you to be emotionally compromised."

I choked out a sob as he said corpse; I visualized Johnny's dead body. This was making the murder all too real for me to handle. Holmes frowned nervously. "Watson!" he called; flustered.

I see a man with blond hair and kind eyes rush in with cane. "What's wrong?"

Holmes points to me. "Fix it."

John Watson looks exasperated and peers at me. "What did you do to her?" he questioned irritably.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked out of the study. "Nothing; fix it."

"She's a person Sherlock; not a bloody machine…" Watson then gives me a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry if he—"

"N-no," I tried to make my voice stop shaking. "He didn't do anything; I'm fine…"

Dr. Watson watches me and gives me his hand. I shake it as he told me. "My name's John Watson."

"Angelina Garrio." I give him a sad smile. He helps me up from the chair. "Thank you."

John looks over his shoulder. "Don't worry; whatever happened Sherlock is on the case. I haven't seen him this interested in anything for days."

"Yes, I've read your blogs; they're extremely well written."

"Thank you; I can't wait to start writing about this case. What exactly happened? If you don't mind me asking."

I tell him everything, but stop when I saw how drawn his face became. "Did I upset you?" I felt bad that I wasn't remembering myself.

He shook his head. "No, but what you described—I'm surprised you haven't broken down earlier."

I shrugged. "I just couldn't. If I did, I would have been captured. This isn't exactly new for me…" I darkly remember some of my NCIS adventures and my grandfather's death.

It was so clear to me that I seemed to have gone back nine years ago to when I was a teenage girl. I remember staying over at my grandfather's with Trent; getting ready for a family reunion and helping him restore his model trains. Grandpa was a marine and good friends with Jethro and his father as well as Mike Franks. He was tough, caring, and loved to create railroads for his model trains with us. I loved him so much... we were in the kitchen eating some bruchetta when there was a violent pounding on the door. My grandfather frowned and told us to go to the back of the house and wait. We listened to him and waited in the train room. We then heard yelling, but the room muffled the words too much to be deciphered. Growing scared I ran out of the room to the living room where I heard:

"—not my fault he decided to face me—" My Grandpa's voice gruffly snapped.

"Bull! You shot him in cold blood—" A thin, furious voice broke through.

"Don't make me shoot you boy: I don't miss…"

I froze when I saw Grandpa holding a rifle at a man holding a handgun. My grandpa gave me a look of fear as the man fired. I never thought I would scream so loudly in my life. The man then pointed the gun at me. He suddenly lurched back as blood sprayed out of his shoulder. My grandfather, despite that he was shot in the chest, was still able to shoot at the stranger until the man raced out of the house. I tried to keep my grandfather alive as Trent called for help…I failed. The last words he told me was:

"I wasn't the best man in the world…I never thought my ghosts would be able to haunt me…but they are and I'm paying the price. I love you Angel and Trent—Trent! Take care of them…her. Tell Christopher (coughs) tell your dad I love him-" That was when his eyes dimmed and a breath hissed away. I felt shattered as I cried and begged Grandpa to continue talking to me. Trent held onto me as he cried with me. Sirens and then policemen racing in. Uncle Jethro showed up and Trent raced up to him and hugged him. Gibbs held Trent tightly and patted his back. He then lets him go with the paramedics and kneels in front of me. "Angelina."

I was hyperventilating and sobbing all at once and managed to choke. "He's dead…he killed him because of me. He shot him because he was too busy worrying about me! J-jethro…I didn't mean to—" Gibbs was already holding me as I cried hysterically. "Please tell me he's okay…please…" Gibbs carried me outside and stayed with me until the rest of his team showed up. As Uncle Jethro left to go solve the case; Trent stood by me and didn't let go of my hand until our parents showed up-Gibbs, Abby, Ducky, Tony, and Kate discovered that the man was the son of someone our grandfather killed in his service. Louis Merdor was arrested and tried. I was there as a star witness. The entire time I told my story I couldn't look him in the eyes until he was escorted out after being found guilty. I didn't talk to him, I didn't try to strangle him, or interact with him. I simply looked straight into his watering green eyes as he passed and watched him leave the room. I didn't feel satisfaction…only relief and depression. I felt like I lost something inside of me that day…and I was still looking for it.

John agreed; waking me from my memories. "If you need anything just ask me or Mrs. Hudson, just don't expect her to be the housekeeper; she's the landlady." He smirked about this like it was joke of some sort.

"Okay, what about Holmes?" I inquire; trying not to let anymore tears run down my face.

Watson laughs. "He is helping; with the case. Just never expect anything more from him; he isn't the most empathetic or social man in world."

"So he keeps to rule #10," I mutter.

"What's that?" Watson asked curiously.

"Rules that my friends work by: Never get personally involved in a case."

"Yes, Holmes lives by that rule." Watson grins.

"That's one of the ones I have trouble with." I frown as I miss my NCIS family

"What's the other one?"

"#6: Never apologize…"

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips, which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**Please let me know if Sherlock and Watson are in character and thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4: Recruiting

"Apologizing is a sign of weakness Trent." Gibbs curtly told Trent as he pushed pass with coffee dripping down his jacket.

Trent gave an apologetic smile. "Just trying not to be strangled for breaking rule #23*." (*Never mess with a Marine's coffee.)

"Then get me a new coffee Garrio!" Gibbs snapped as he went into the bathroom.

Tony started laughing. "Way to end a case Probie—"

"Don't compare me to McGee." Trent told Tony as McGee let out an annoyed grunt.

"Don't be grumpy Boy Scout; it could have been worse—wait, no you managed to break two of Gibb's favorite rules…that's bad. It's even worse than Probie breaking rule #22—"

"Can you two have a conversation without insulting me?" McGee whined from his computer.

Trent mischievously smirked. "He's right Tony; what was that one rule you always break…Oh yeah #1."

"I've never let suspects stay together." Tony answered.

"I was referring to 'never screwing over your partner' or is it 'never screw your partner'? Oh well, you've done both." Trent's smile grew as Tony's face became rigid.

"Ever seen the movie _Carrie_ Trent? All the haters die first—"

"So does the dumbass; DiNozzo." Trent was enjoying seeing Tony's vein grow as he heard McGee snigger.

"Well if I'm the village idiot and you're the hater; then McGeek is Carrie…wait psycho-girl that kills the entire senior class with freaky mind powers—it could be Ziva!"

Ziva looks over her magazine. "Don't make me teach you another lesson Tony."

Gibbs was out of the bathroom with a dried coffee stain on his shirt. He suddenly stopped when he looked up at the stairway. Director Vance walked quickly down the stairs. "All of you, in my office." He brusquely said.

Trent felt his stomach give a nervous lurch. Vance looked…anxious. When Vance is anxious then something terrible was happening.

Everyone was gathered in Vance's office. Vance looked at everyone closely as he stoically said. "There was a murder this morning in London." A picture showed up on the screen. Gibb's and Trent's eyes widened as Vance continued. "Naval Officer Johnathan Shaw was found strangled in his bathtub." He then reluctantly moved onto two more pictures. "Scotland Yard has been kind enough to find security footage of who entered and left the room around the time of the murder." Everyone in the room looked at the screen in horror as Angelina's picture showed up next to a man with dark brown hair.

Tony's face became dead as he looked at the picture, while McGee kept blinking furiously like he was seeing things. Ziva's brow was furrowed as she peered at the screen and the director. Ducky sighed sadly and closed his eyes. Trent stared at the screen silently as Gibbs glared at Vance for an answer.

"They have not been able to find them…I was requested to send a team to investigate this murder…I'm sending you all."

The room remained silent for a moment, until Gibbs quickly left the room. His team hurries after him as fast as they could; their motivation was to rescue their friend from danger.

* * *

I stare into the tea Mrs. Judson made for me as Watson and Holmes were talking in the next room. I was replaying everything inside of my head over and over and over again. My cell phone was dead and I couldn't bear calling anyone or I would break down. Holmes walked back into the room and stood in front of me. Watson stood beside him and was giving him a seething look.

Holmes kneeled down in front of me and looked straight into my eyes; making me look away as he spoke. "You're hyperthymestic. The overly detailed observations, the way you become lost in thought from various memory processes, and mental fatigue pointed me in that direction. The note from your psychologist also affirmed this. I also went through your purse and found out that you have a stepfather and mother and four siblings; one of which is a twin brother. You are also connected with Naval Criminal Investigation Services. Were you an intern? I can see from the scars on your knuckles and the callouses on your finger that you use to fight and use a firearm frequently, but stopped abruptly. You're remembering your time in NCIS aren't you?"

He was right; I was remembering when I assisted Gibbs and his team on many missions until Mike Franks was murdered. I couldn't deal with the deaths anymore; especially losing Mike... I stopped assisting NCIS and focused on my studies to become a curator.

"I could use your help—" Sherlock started, but Watson interrupted him:

"She doesn't need to get involved any more than she has—"

Sherlock raised his voice to overcome Watson's to tell me. "John doesn't believe you can handle this, but we both know that you can. I know you want to help find your friend's killer and the reason why his life was taken. Your memory can greatly assist me in this investigation only if you agree to join the game. I am the only one who can find the killer and uncover the reasons, just like you are the only one that can actually describe observations better than a security camera-"

"Sherlock-" Watson was glaring at his friend.

"Oh shut up John; she can decide for herself whether she wants to sit here and cry or actually do something productive." Sherlock stared at me and waited impatiently.

I ground my teeth together as I answered. "Manipulation doesn't work so well on me Mr. Holmes."

Holmes scoffed. "Very well-"

"I am going to do anything I can, so what do you need me to do?" I ask him while glowering into his startling eyes as he smiled at his accomplishment. "There's one thing I must ask of you."

Holmes raised his eyebrows and nodded to me to continue. "Call this a game again and I won't hesitate in punching you in the gut. Johnny's death is not a game to me, understand?"

Holmes blinked in confusion at my ire, but finally agreed. "Anything else?"

"Don't be surprised if I have emotional breakdowns or become cognitively unresponsive. Also, don't touch my purse." I stand up at the same time he does, causing me to be pressed against him. I stepped back and fell into the chair. I bit my lip in embarrassment as Holmes said:

"You forgot to mention you were hopelessly imbalanced."

"Shut up Sherlock." John told him as he helped me up. I smile at John; happy to have someone there to help me.

I peer back at Sherlock who was gazing at me steadily. I walk up to him and had to look up to meet his gaze. "Ready when you are." I got out my gun and cocked it.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips, which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**


	5. Chapter 5: Preparation

Sherlock did something shocking; he laughed. "No, we're not doing that; your mind set is quite amusing though." He leaves the room and comes back with a black wig, sunglasses, powder, clothes, and what looked like a false nose. "We're going to the crime scene; you have to borrow some of Mrs. Hudson's clothes, but she won't mind."

"Did you ask her?"

"No." He threw me the supplies and left in a fit of happy excitement. "Now hurry up; there's not a moment to lose!"

I look over at John and ask. "He's always like this isn't he?"

Watson nodded. "Don't be surprised if you want to strangle him, but he's acting quite nice to you."

"Really?" I look over to the other room and see Holmes was getting dressed and turned away while I was reddening.

John looks over and curses. "Dammit Sherlock, get dressed in your room!"

Sherlock walks in and didn't have a shirt on. I stare at his lean body, but then looked down at the floor. Why did the most irritating man in the world have to be drop dead gorgeous? "Come now John, we don't have any time to waste—"

"Just go to your room!" John whined in frustration.

"Why? Ms. Garrio doesn't seem to mind." Sherlock peers at me as he mischievously smirks at my flushed face. "Do you Ms. Garrio?"

I glare at him, but decided to be honest. "No." I unfortunately liked what I saw.

Holmes was momentarily surprised at my remark, probably expecting something else, and jeered at Watson. "See now John; you're the only one who is bothered by this—"

John rolled his eyes as he left the room. Holmes looks at me expectedly. "Why aren't you dressed?" he starts pushing me into the bathroom. "Hurry up! I can tell nudity greatly bothers you so you can dress in here. If you're not ready in five minutes I'll dress you myself." Holmes shuts me inside the bathroom. I stare at the door and wonder if he really would barge into the bathroom; I also wondered why it didn't bother me.

* * *

Trent throws his bag down next to him and tries calling his sister's cell again. He turns to see Ziva was doing the same thing, while McGee was sending multiple text messages. He could hear Tony leaving a desperate voice message:

"Hey, it's Tony. You need to call me back!"

Trent stops trying and looks out the plane's window to see Gibbs walking toward the plane with Ducky.

Gibbs already went to Abby and tried to calm her down and promised her to let her know all the details of the case. Jimmy was there to try to keep Abby from overdoing it on the Caf-Pow and was as nervous as she was and just had to ask:

"Do you think she doesn't have her phone? I've tried calling her about five times—" This caused Abby to worry even more and Jimmy to blanch when Gibbs glowered at him.

Gibbs also tried calling her cell phone—the one time the girl had to break rule 3. Ducky tried to calm Gibbs:

"She'll be fine Jethro; Angelina knows what to do in these situations—"

"She usually contacts someone in these situations Ducky." Gibbs curtly replied.

They were about to board the plane when Vance stopped them.

"I need to speak to Gibbs."

Ducky nodded and gave Gibbs a look of warning as he boarded the plane.

Gibbs tersely told Leon. "I don't have time for lectures Leon—"

Vance interrupted him. "Just wanted you to know that I'm sending you as a privilege Gibbs."

"Really? Because I would have gone anyway."

Gibbs felt impatient as Vance told him. "I know, and I also know that when things get personal nothing can stop you. I'm just warning you now; I won't protect when you make a mistake."

"I'm not asking for your protection and I won't need it." Gibbs walked pass him and onto the plane, but stopped when Vance said: "Gibbs."

Gibbs turned to Vance, who told him. "Make sure you bring her home."

Gibbs nodded and shut the door behind him. He looked at his team; they were all as worried as he was. He then barked: "McGee; any information on Shaw."

McGee quickly opened his laptop. "Yes boss; Shaw is an American Naval officer in training who took leave when his uncle Elias Shaw died…"

Gibbs closely listened to every fact that told him about Shaw. He was going to find Angelina alive and bring her back home—he tried not to think of the alternatives.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips, which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**P.S. I like reviews! ;D Even if it's criticisms about characters just let me know so I can improve my writing. Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 6: Crime Scene

I got on the clothes and wig easily (I was happy that Theatre Arts club has taught me how to don wigs or else I would have never been able to put the ratty thing on.) The false nose was going to be trouble though, I was about to open the door, but someone else did it for me. I jumped back in surprise and grabbed my knife from the counter. Holmes looks at the knife. "Did you honestly think that would help you?"

I sigh; I was way too tense. "Obviously you haven't seen me with a knife…" I reminisce about my knife throwing lessons with Ziva… "Mr. Holmes…I need call someone—"

"No you can't call NCIS." He said it to me like he was telling a child to behave themself.

"They can help me!" I argued.

"They can also take you into custody as a suspect; don't act like they won't."

I thought about Tony being accused of murder; there was so much evidence against that he was almost sent to prison for murder. He was actually put in a jail cell. They had similar reasons to believe I was a killer. I hated to admit it, but Holmes was right. I know Gibbs and everyone would try their best to prove me innocent, but I still ran from a cop… "You're right—"

"Yes, yes, now let's go." Holmes petulantly pulls me along and hands me some high heels.

"Wait, I didn't put on the nose and I don't feel right about taking Mrs. Hudson's clothes—" I ran into Holmes as he stopped and he held my arms as he passionately told me:

"Don't be stupid! We have no time for social formalities. So if you don't mind; put on the bloody shoes and get a move on Miss Angelina!"

I felt a little frightened, but bristled back. "They'll recognize me—"

Holmes groaned and rolled his eyes while pulling me outside. "Scotland Yard wouldn't be able to recognize you even without a disguise; if you feel that paranoid put on some sunglasses."

We briskly walk down the street as John joins us. Holmes sends a text as he walks ahead of us. John's phone beeps, and he looks at it and scoffs. "She could just be a friend—"

"You dragging around your girlfriend to a crime scene is more convincing and everyone won't try to bother her with idiotic flirting—"

I look at the text and read:

_Act like she's your girlfriend, but try not to enjoy it too much._

John flushed and shut the phone as I scoffed. "I doubt anyone would take notice of me—"

"A diminished self-confidence doesn't fit you, so please shut up." Holmes muttered as we walked. I redden angrily as John warned:

"Sherlock…"

Sherlock turns to us and didn't seem to notice my anger. "What?"

I roll my eyes, but stopped when I saw we were at the motel. Police cars were lined up and a coroner truck was starting to park there as well. I swallow the lump in my throat as the sorrow kicked in. "Dammit!" Sherlock cursed as he raced across the street. He didn't notice a cab flying by and I grabbed his coat and wrenched him back. Holmes almost fell on top of me, but I steadied him as the cab whizzed pass. Sherlock blinked and turned to me as I hissed. "Be careful!"

Holmes shrugged and grabbed my hand to race across the street as John trailed behind us.

A man in a sanitation suit sneered at us. "Well, isn't the great consulting detective running late?"

"Anderson, thank god you've finally discovered sarcasm. It only took you half your life to figure it out." Holmes walks passed the flustered man as John and I tried to follow him.

Anderson stopped us. "You can't just walk in!"

Sherlock turned and glared at him. "They're my assistants Anderson—"

Anderson grins. "The girl isn't—"

He interrupts him. "Oh yes, I should be more like you and sneak girls through the back of the crime scene. What was the blonde's name again: Kaity? I didn't realize you and Sally were having problems."

Anderson's sneering face flushed. "She was a witness—"

"Ah yes because all witnesses tell you about 'how great Saturday night was'…your silence is most reassuring. Try not to think too hard or you'll end up with an aneurism." Sherlock walks back in as John and I follow while Anderson was furiously fuming.

I look around the room and felt the memories assault me. Sherlock walks over to the bathroom where more agents were. A woman glares at Sherlock and muttered. "Looks like the freak is running late."

Sherlock ignored her, but I scowled at her. She sees my expression and raises her eyebrows at me like it was a challenge. Wow, she reminded me of Vivian Blackadder; 50% ice and 50% bitch. I barely knew 'Viv', but Viv couldn't stand me and I constantly got into arguments with her and her attitude toward Gibbs. I read the woman's badge: Sargent Donovan…yay looks like I've only made one friend and…I honestly didn't want to count up how many people disliked me already.

A man with grey hair notices us. "Holmes, I was wondering when you would show up."

I see Johnny's body was still in the tub and looked away quickly. I notice some people starting to stare and I grasped John's hand. John peers at me and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

Holmes looks at the body. "Were you honestly about to send him off before I analyzed the crime scene Lestrade?"

"You were running late." Lestrade told him simply.

"My tardiness does not give you an excuse to be an idiot." Holmes starts to analyze the body. Watson lets go of my hand and pulls on some latex gloves to also examine the corpse.

Watson says. "Oh, Detective Inspector this is—"

"Jenny Shepard." I wince as a hurricane of flashbacks invaded my mind. I willed against the visions of her; I needed some way to let Gibbs know I was still around and Jenny's alias was what I needed. Jenny was our old director at NCIS…my Grandpa talked about her a lot. She, like Gibbs, was an old family friend. Despite being in the political swarm; she always made sure her agents were safe. She was a master of hiding… "I'm John's girlfriend." I said with a small smile; I managed to disguise my voice to have the same dialect as Ducky's.

Lestrade looks over at me and gives me a smile and a nod. "Nice to meet you, I'm Greg Lestrade." He then turns his attention to the body and told Sherlock. "Two people were seen entering and leaving this room; a man and woman. We are still waiting for facial recognition. Mr. Shaw already had Scotland Yard looking into the threatening emails sent to him and we assigned an agent for protection…"

"Well, you all have done a wonderful job then." Sherlock murmured sarcastically.

Donovan argued with him. "Johnny Shaw thought someone was going to kill him, and believed the suicide of his uncle and his father's accident were both murders from someone who sends orange graphics. We assigned one agent to watch him because we couldn't take this seriously at the time—"

"Maybe if you took it 'seriously' Mr. Shaw would still be alive." Sherlock told her, but didn't waver his gaze from Johnny's corpse.

"Even if we did, agent Smith wouldn't have been able to save him from drowning in the tub—"

"You could have moved him to a safe house." I snapped, but felt a twinge of fear that Smith was watching over Johnny. Everyone turns to me and Sherlock gives me a glare to be quiet. Donovan glowers at me as I continue. "Sherlock is right; maybe if you all took Shaw's case seriously he wouldn't be a corpse in a bathtub."

Donovan looks at Lestrade and Holmes. "What is a civilian doing here?"

"The name's Jenny and I'm assisting Holmes." I really didn't like this girl.

Holmes motioned to me. "Get out."

I give Holmes a death glare and left the bathroom, but gave it another scan. I went into the sitting area and saw a stack of cds and other papers next to a laptop. Everyone else was busy and I made sure my gloves were on as I looked through the pile. The cds weren't in the same order they were in; they were backwards. Someone had looked through them. I pick through the titles until I found Johnny's favorite cd of mixed songs I made him. I wondered if he hid the disk in here. I open the cd and saw a floppy disk with the letters: K-K-K. I shut the cd case and shoved the floppy disk into my purse. I put the cd back and wandered into the kitchen; relieved no one noticed me.

* * *

Sherlock saw a blue marking on the corpse's chest, but quickly ignored it. It was Prussian blue watercolor. It got onto the corpse when Angelina tried to perform CPR. He then smelt the corpse's lips: vanilla... also Angelina's Chap Stick. He took a swab and bag for everything; including bathwater. A Navy Officer that didn't notice a window open to cry out for help or trying to attack the intruder…strange. He smelt citrus from the bath oil and…garlic. Why garlic? Shaw obviously hadn't eaten in a while. Sherlock picked up the citrus bath oil and smelt it: oranges and garlic. He checked the ingredients. He then bagged the entire bottle.

Lestrade piped up. "I'm not so sure you should do that Sherlock."

He sighed in annoyance. "And what American agency is coming here to make a mess of things? NCIS?"

Lestrade nodded as Sherlock continued to ignore his instructions. He looked over at the trash bin: used as a foot stool to crawl out of the window. The killer was of average height, but there were no scuff markings on the trash bin except for a marking of Angelina's boot. The killer didn't wear shoes…no footprints…he wore socks. He looked over at the bathroom door; no signs of someone trying to break through and Scotland Yard had to open it up with a key. This showed the pursuer of Angelina was confident he would catch her that he didn't have to bash down the door, but he did shoot at her…so they want her dead.

"Did Officer Smith tell you something was wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, he said that he noticed a girl leaving from the back of the motel—"

"But he didn't mention the man entering or leaving?" Holmes grinned at everyone's expressions of surprise. "Don't tell me Officer Smith only noticed a woman entering the motel room and seeing her leaving through the back, but couldn't see the man who entered and exited through the front door."

"He did." Lestrade answered. "But he did mention that at one point he was distracted by a thievery—"

"Where is Smith?" Sherlock wasn't surprise that Scotland Yard agents were so slow on the uptake; thank God Lestrade was finally able to understand.

"Are you implying that Smith saw the man and didn't tell us?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes!" Sherlock honestly wondered how the agency was able to solve any murders.

"He had a probable explanation; he was bashed on the head while trying to apprehend a thief—" Donovan tried to explain, but Holmes cut her off impatiently:

"Oh of course; a trained officer with a baton was no match for a common street thief. I wonder how your brains solve puzzles; it must be awfully slow…Where is Mr. Smith now?"

Donovan was too busy scowling at Holmes to answer and Lestrade told him:

"We sent him home in a cab—"

"His address?" Sherlock handed the bags to John.

After Lestrade gave him the address Sherlock briskly walked out with a smile on his face as he told Watson: "Shaw was drugged by his own bathwater; clever that the killer used the bath oil to carry the drug as well as enter the bathroom in his socks—"

"Socks?"

"Socks don't have soles or foot print markings John," he lectured. "Also I noticed some lint on the window sill, which I collected." Holmes points to one of the bags Watson was carrying.

"You believe Smith created a false testimony—"

"Of course, any idiot would." Holmes sees Angelina wandering around the kitchen and saw she had something in her purse. His smile grew; she stole some evidence for him. "John get your girlfriend; we must be off."

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips, which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**


	7. Chapter 7: Corpse

When they all made it outside Sherlock's smile dropped. A cab had stopped and five people got out of it: the co-workers from NCIS. He sees Angelina's eyes widen. Not good. Sherlock pushed John away and places an arm around Angelina; making sure his arm knocks the sunglasses onto her nose and part of her face was obscured from the agents. He rushes the both of them down the street. "John, hail us a cab if you please."

John looks at the agents and did as he was told. Sherlock opens the door and gets Angelina and John into it quickly. He peers over to the agents and sees the man, the one who had his arm around Angelina in the photo, watching him. Sherlock gets into the cab and gives the driver Smith's address. "Why are we going to Smith's?" John asked.

"I need to see him; he told Scotland Yard about being distracted and attacked during a thievery to notice the man or speaking to Angelina. It was obviously a ploy to get himself out of trouble and alone with the man he was working with. This wasn't a one-man job. I need to see what evidence I can find at his apartment and if he's there it'll give us more clues."

I keep looking out the window at the disappearing motel and wished I could have gone to my friends…I thought Gibbs was about to follow, but he finally went inside. Hopefully they'll get my message. Sherlock suddenly leans across from me and grabbed the floppy disk from my purse. He looks at the blue cartridge and smirks. "Well done, where did you find it?"

"In Johnny's favorite cd case." I told him; why was I feeling so proud of impressing Sherlock? "Someone had gone through it before me; I think they were trying to find the disk."

"Hmm, this should be able to help us with discovering the reason for Shaw's murder."

I nod in agreement as images of the murder started to play inside my mind's eye. Johnny dead in the bathtub, Mike on the examination table, Jenny on the floor, Kate shot in the head, Grandpa dying, Tommy in the casket, John and Jane Does…

"Angelina!" Sherlock's smooth voice snapped and brought me back to the present. The cab had stopped and both of the bachelors stood on the sidewalk and were staring at me in curious concern. I shook my head and clumsily clambered out of the cab. I felt exhausted, but squared my shoulders. John's phone suddenly started ringing and he looked at it with an apologetic frown.

Sherlock sighed angrily. "Just answer her."

I look between the two of them. "Who?"

"John's sister; most likely calling him about her relapse in sobriety—" he stopped when John shot him an irritated glare. John answers the phone:

"Harry, now isn't the best—what? How much?"

John groaned and held the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

Sherlock scowled at John. "This will most likely take half an hour, since they talking about financial issues. Come on," He pulls me along with him by my wrist to the door and we buzz in. Sherlock was extremely awkward on the video and I told the landlord. "We're co-workers of agent Smith and he was injured on the job today; we came by to pick up his reports."

The landlord buzzed us into the complex and we knocked on Smith's door. No answer. Sherlock started picking the lock and told me. "Block me and keep an eye out for the landlord." I did as I was told and wondered if Sherlock had immunity from breaking and entering punishments…probably not. The landlord stayed away and Holmes finally opened the door. We walk in and see the flat was empty. Sherlock walked down a hallway and pulled on some gloves. I put on some gloves as well and walked around. I smelt the strange citrus smell in the kitchen and saw an orange open on the counter. I felt the blood drain from my face as I saw the pips make an arrow that pointed to the pantry. I get out my gun and hold it out in front of me. I crept toward the pantry and open it. Something large fell out, causing me to almost fire. I saw Smith sprawled on the floor before me and I shrieked. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock looked around the bedroom in annoyance; nothing interesting. Smith lived alone and appeared to be trafficking drugs, but no trace of information about his supplier/handler. He raced out of the room when he heard someone fall over and Angelina shriek out his name. He raised his eyebrows at the dead body and the orange pips in the kitchen. He smiled excitedly as he examined the corpse. This killer was smart; he strangled his colleague when he knew the witness had escaped. He noticed two bruises that formed; one of which was postmortem. Sherlock checked any other clues: the same garlic scent he smelt from the man's lips. Drugs that smelt like garlic—interesting.

"We should call Lestrade." Angelina spoke up. Sherlock felt annoyed that someone was interrupting his thoughts. He noticed that she was exhausted; her hands were trembling in fatigue. The body may have surprised her, but she was handling the sight professionally.

He thought glumly about Lestrade coming with his hoard and messing up the crime scene, but remembered his client and reluctantly got up. "Right, I need to send you and John back to Baker Street; I'll stay here and warn Lestrade about the body. Smith has been dead for at least an hour…"

"How can you tell?"

"The bruise on his cheek where he was struck was given after he was dead by a cylinder object—most likely a mug seeing that there is a liquid condensation ring on the table—I've studied postmortem bruises before and this one was given an hour before."

"That's amazing the things you can see," she muttered, causing Sherlock to smile at the praise.

"Elementary." Sherlock replied as he led her out to John.

* * *

"Did you find anything?" John asked after hanging up his phone.

"Yes. Smith's corpse." Sherlock answered.

"He's dead?"

"Yes John that's what 'corpse' means." Sherlock imperturbably replied as he sent a text:** _Found Smith; his dead body fell out of a pantry in his flat. Dead for an hour: strangled. _**"Lestrade and his lot should be here in a few moments. You and Angelina will go to back to the flat and I will meet you two there. Someone has to explain to Scotland Yard what has happened."

"And that someone is you?" John dryly smirked.

"Of course," Sherlock smirked back. "Who else?"

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips, which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**


	8. Chapter 8: Consulting Detective

We get into the cab that drives us back. I lean against the chair as my eyes were fluttering close.

"Are you alright?" John asked me in concern.

I look over at him and nod. "I get ex-ex," I sigh as I stuttered. "extreme mental fatigue sometimes. This is one of those times."

"That's because of your disorder." John inferred.

"Yeah, I'm different from the others—they remember everything since early childhood; my memories go back much farther."

"How far?"

"Ever since I first opened my eyes; they said it was a few hours after I was born." I shut my eyes as I remember the first person I saw: Uncle Jethro. My mom had to bring both me and my brother into the world by herself, since our biological father ditched her. She relied on her family and friends to help her through it. Including Gibbs. He had just lost his wife and daughter…Shannon and Kelly. My mom was good friends with Shannon and named us after her and her daughter. Angelina Shannon and Trent Kelly. Gibbs was there to help our mom, Mike and Grandpa dragged him over to the hospital. Mike told me that we helped Gibbs back into the world. I remember seeing him holding me with that small smile.

* * *

Everything was dark, but I heard and felt someone holding me:

"Hey kid, your mom wants you to wake up. Open your eyes. Come on. Everyone is waiting." Gibbs rocked the little bundle in his arms; hoping for a response. The baby was so tiny, and she still remained silent and motionless except for the rising and falling of her breathing. Hadn't even cried yet, just remained still. It was so different from holding Trent; the baby was hefty and wide awake with excitement. The baby boy cooed and latched onto his fingers with a firm grip when he was holding him, but the girl was motionless. Gibbs frowned sadly as he tried to coax Angelina awake. "Come on Angel, wake up."

The baby started to squirm and let out a small mew. She soon started to cry and Gibbs kept swaying her in his arms as he called for the nurse. The baby suddenly opened her eyes and stopped crying. She had the same bluish-brown eyes her brother had as she gazed up at him curiously. For the first time in a while…Gibbs smiled.

After that, the nurse brought her to her mom and other family members. From that day forward, Gibbs became a part of their family as a second father.

* * *

Gibbs looked around the bathroom as Ducky examined the corpse. Of all memories he chose to think about it was the time he first held her. He looks over at Trent who was tagging the slug he found. Gibbs hears Tony shooting pictures as McGee bagged evidence. Ziva was also taking photos of the window well. Lestrade continued telling Gibbs about the witness testimony of Officer Smith:

"He said he saw Shaw let in Angelina Garrio, but when he saw her run away from the motel she came from the back." Trent's head turned, but he quickly went back to his work.

"And James Calhourn?" Gibbs asked. McGee found a match to the identity of the man: James Calhourn captain of the Lone Star, American crabbing boat that came into port a week ago with a small crew, Calhourn was a naval officer but was discharged for going AWOL. His crew members were being searched for now.

Lestrade sighed. "Smith didn't see him entering or leaving; he was actually attacked while trying to stop a thievery."

"I want to talk to him." Gibbs told Lestrade.

Lestrade frowned. "Well, he was sent home to recuperate—"

"Well we can give him a visit." Gibbs called McGee over. "McGee, you're with me."

"Actually someone is already talking with him." Lestrade announced.

"One of your men?"

"Not exactly."

Gibbs felt impatient as he questioned. "What do you mean not exactly?" he had a feeling this had to do with the civilians he saw leaving the crime scene before them.

"Well, Sherlock Holmes is a consulting detective that has helped the force multiple times."

A man and woman in sanitation suits scoffed at this. Gibbs looked around the room and noticed a marker on the counter. He noticed a ring of water where something had sat. Gibbs felt irritated as he dared asked. "By any chance did this consulting detective take any evidence with him?"

"Yes."

* * *

Gibbs glares over at Lestrade as he heard Tony mutter to Trent. "Uh-oh, Gibbs looks like he's going to slap someone."

"I thought that was his 'I'm gonna kill Dinozzo face'." Trent dryly replied.

"No, but the two do look similar."

* * *

"You have a consulting detective remove evidence and interrogate witnesses." Gibbs watched Lestrade frown nervously under his glare.

McGee suddenly commented. "Actually boss, Sherlock Holmes is a genius at deductions and criminal investigations. I just read one of John Watson's blogs about him solving a case about a cipher—"

Gibbs slaps the back of McGee's head to silence him. "Sorry boss."

"I could give you his number; if it'll help." Lestrade got out his phone.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and got Sherlock's number as he asked. "What evidence did he take?"

"Just samples, but he took the entire bottle of citrus bath oil for testing."

"I can see that." Muttered Gibbs. Lestrade's phone started to ring. Gibbs gave him a stormy look as he looked at it. Lestrade frowns as he reads the message. "Donovan, Anderson, Smith has been murdered, get some of our men over to the apartment to assist Holmes—"

"No, there's no way I'll be working with that psychopath." Anderson sneered.

"What happened?" Gibbs asked.

"Holmes just found Smith; strangled to death. I need to send some agents over, but I'll still be here."

"Poor lad, looks like you'll have someone else accompany you today." Ducky told the cadaver. All the Scotland Yard agents gave their examiner looks of unease as he chatted to the dead body. "Jethro, may I ask you to come here."

Gibbs walks over to Ducky. "What is it Duck?"

"Well if you could look at this." Ducky points to a blue marking on the body's chest. "Blue Prussian paint; watercolor. Interesting story about this color was that color-maker Diesbach was trying to create a new red, but created this regal color instead. It has been used by many artists including Picasso, Van Gogh—"

"Angelina Garrio?" Gibbs finished.

"Yes, and the impressions on the chest show rhythmic compressions as though someone was administering CPR, and the scent and sheen on the mouth is vanilla—"

"Her chapstick," Trent indicated. "Angelina uses vanilla chapstick and perfume."

Gibbs looks at the body and knew Angelina would have tried to revive her friend, but couldn't; she was then attacked and ran. Where though? She wasn't at the embassy and hadn't called. Did her attacker catch her?

* * *

"So McGee, when did you develop this school boy crush on Sherlock Holmes?" Tony teased.

McGee rolled his eyes. "It's not a crush Tony, if you read any of Dr. Watson's blogs you would see how much of a genius Holmes is. He's the only consulting detective—"

"Rule #3 Probie; never believe what you're told. Especially if it comes from a Doctor's blog." Tony shoots some more picutres.

"But if it was James Bond you would agree with him," Ziva piped up; she was done shooting and wanted to see what she could do to help.

"Of course; no one is better than 007." Tony grinned.

Ziva shakes her, but she was glad Tony's antics were distracting her from the cold truth that Angelina was still out there alone and in danger. The girl was so…young and fragile. Ziva didn't like that someone was chasing her. If she found out Angel was hurt or worse; she would hunt down the brute and torture him body and soul. She peers at Trent sadly; hoping her adorable co-agent wasn't taking it too hard. Trent was diligently working without a peep. He would usually chat with everyone with snide comments and showy humor. He was never this silent. Ziva pats his shoulder and he nods, but didn't look up at her. McGee notices and goes over to him to help him out. Ziva motions to Tony to go back to work. Tony looks at Trent and gets the message and goes over to the bullet hole in the wall.

Tony took another photo shot of the bullet hole. He suddenly heard Sergeant Donovan and the forensics expert, Anderson, talking about Sherlock Holmes:

"I seriously can't go over there and have him insult me!" Anderson complained.

"Neither can I, he has no boundaries." Donovan mumbled.

"Exactly! He had Watson drag his girlfriend along—"

"Hmph, judging by her snide remarks I thought Jenny Shepard was the freak's girlfriend; she had the gall to tell us how to do our job and glared daggers at me for calling out the freak."

Tony froze, dumbfounded, when he heard the name, but continued to listen.

"Huh, now that you mention it, I did see him put his arm around her when they left—"

"Really?"

"Yeah, it was when NCIS showed up…Think Watson is sharing his girlfriend with Holmes?"

"Who knows…so did you find out anything about the gunfire?"

Tony rushes over to Gibbs; he had a feeling that Angelina was with the infamous Sherlock Holmes and was just under their noses.

* * *

Gibbs questioned Lestrade once again. "Did the locks show any sign of tampering?"

"Just the window, but the door was opened by a key—"

"Had anyone gone to ask about who could have gotten the key?"

"Yeah, the owner of the motel showed us where she kept the keys for her staff and guests; one was missing. We questioned her and she told us the only time she wasn't in the room was when a bicyclist crashed outside and went to assist him."

"A distraction." Gibbs inferred.

"A convenient one," Lestrade agreed.

"Hey boss, can I talk to you for a moment?" Tony was excited and Gibbs finally stepped outside with him.

"What is it?" Gibbs took a sip of coffee; God knows he needed it.

"I overheard some conversation about Sherlock Holmes boss, it turns out he brought along someone named Watson and his girlfriend—actually I'm not sure if its Watson's or Holmes' girlfriend it sounded like a complicated relationship—"

"Is there a point in this Dinozzo?"

"Yeah, well, the girl's name was Jenny Shepard."

Gibbs remained silent as he thought about Jenny and knew that it was Angelina; that clever girl was letting them know she was in hiding.

"It's Angelina, isn't it?" Tony asked; hoping he was right.

"Yeah, it's her."

"What is she trying to tell us?"

"She's hiding." Gibbs goes back inside. "With Sherlock Holmes."

"What should we do boss?" Tony follows him.

"You are going to stay here with the others and finish up, Ziva and I are going to Smith's crime scene to meet the consulting detective." Gibbs motions to Ziva and tells Lestrade where he's going.

Once in a cab, Ziva asks. "Trying to get some answers from Holmes, Gibbs?"

"Not trying Ziva, I'm going to get some answers." He told her as they went off to Smith's.


	9. Chapter 9: Chats

Sherlock meets with Donovan; who was less than thrilled to listen to his description of how he found the body. After having to argue that he was not a suspect in the murder; he left. Sherlock hailed a cab and then saw the man with grey hair, walking toward him. The Jewish-Israeli woman was beside him. She was powerfully built; native of Israel and Jewish since she wore the Star of David. She enjoyed swimming and running since her muscle structure hinted to it. Sherlock got into the cab and it drove off; leaving two irritated looking agents behind. His phone started ringing and saw an unfamiliar number. He answers it. "Yes," he already knew it was the man and he heard his gruff voice:

"Care to have a little chat Mr. Holmes?"

"Hmm, no, I'll have to take a rain check. Besides, I thought you had a murder investigation to solve."

"I'm trying to solve it, but I could use some answers." The voice curtly answered.

Sherlock wryly smirked. "Of course you do agent…"

"Gibbs,"

"Well you and Scotland Yard could use all the help you can get agent Gibbs, for starters, I prefer texts not calls—"

"I prefer for people not to steal evidence from my crime scenes." Gibbs barked.

"I was given permission to analyze the evidence, if it bothers you can take it up with Lestrade—"

"I'm taking it up with you!" Gibbs growled back.

"Boring," Sherlock mumbled as he hung up the phone. He then got another call from John, but didn't pay attention because he was too busy thinking about analyzing the evidence in his lab.

* * *

Gibbs looked at his phone like he wanted to shoot it. Ziva watches him patiently and asks. "He didn't give you any answers did he?"

"Ya think David?" Gibbs muttered. He shoves his phone into his pocket.

Ziva tells him as they walk into the room where Smith was murdered. "In Israel we would hunt down people who withhold information and evidence—"

"Do you shoot them?" Gibbs asked wryly.

Ziva dryly smiles. "Depends on the situation."

* * *

Sherlock steps into his flat and see John was on his computer; he had a mug of steaming tea beside him. He could tell he was blogging again and decided to go upstairs to get some rest before starting on his work. Sherlock walks into his room while throwing off his coat and scarf, but stops when he sees Angelina curled up in his bed and fast asleep. Sherlock then quickly goes back downstairs to John:

"Why is she in my bed?"

John was typing on his laptop and looks up at Holmes in confusion. "We couldn't just put her on the couch."

"Yes we could; the couch is fine. Why is she in my bed?" Sherlock was talking quickly in agitation.

"You said it would be fine."

"No I didn't, when did I say that?"

"When I was on the phone with you."

"I wasn't listening."

"You've got to be joking. If I'm out of the flat and you tell me something you harass me for not listening, but when I'm talking directly to you and you ignore me it's completely fine."

"This doesn't explain why she's in my bed."

"She's had a rough day Sherlock, besides you always end up on the couch." John asserted.

"Rough day; she's completely fine."

"No she's not. She's tired and traumatized."

"Please John, she has been completely stable during both crime scenes—"

"That doesn't mean she isn't upset Sherlock. She's exhausted from her hypothermesia, distraught that her friend is dead, feeling guilty that he died in the next room and not being able to help him, afraid from the police and man chasing her, worried whether she'll be discovered as well as staying in an alien place, feeling alone without her contact with family and friends, and wondering whether she has made the right choice of not approaching NCIS."

Sherlock stared at John in confusion. "How can someone feel all of that?"

John closes his laptop irritably. "Because she's human; she told me all of this as she was thanking me for helping her. She's relieved that you took on this case, but if you want to go upstairs and toss her out to the couch go ahead."

"Very well," Sherlock goes back upstairs as he hears John groan in exasperation.

When he made it back to his bedroom, he was about to shake her awake, until he saw her face. He hadn't notice how her eyes were swollen and the tear stains on his pillow. Sherlock frowned as he watched her face stay peaceful and relaxed. With an annoyed growl he grabbed his robe and went back downstairs to the couch.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips, which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**


	10. Chapter 10: Visitors

I wake up and stand up after a good rest. I smooth out the nightgown Mrs. Hudson let me borrow. It was old, but refined and I liked it. I changed into my old clothes and went downstairs. I see Holmes asleep on the couch; his blanket had fallen to the floor. I pick it up and place it back on him as I wandered into the kitchen. I went into the fridge and gasped as I saw a human hand. I rub my eyes and the hand was still there. I grab the eggs and sausage links and carefully shut the fridge. I wondered if I should be concerned that there was a human body part in the fridge, but I shrugged it off. I start cooking up the sausages and the sizzling woke up Holmes. He sat down at the table and peers at me curiously as I explained. "I wanted to thank you and John for letting me stay the night and helping…How do you like your eggs?"

"Poached," he told me as he opened the paper.

I started making his food as John walks in.

"Angelina?"

"Good morning. How do you like your eggs?"

John was still groggy. "Huh?"

"She's making us breakfast John." Holmes murmured to his sleepy friend. "Why so tired? It's not like you've slept on a couch."

John looks at Holmes with narrowed eyes as I gasp. "Oh, Mr. Holmes—"

"Sherlock," he interjected.

"What?"

"Call me Sherlock," he told me as he went back to his paper.

I tilt my head in confusion. "Um, Sherlock, I'm sorry for taking your bed, I'll take the couch tonight if I have to." I felt mortified as I realized he had to sleep on the couch…I thought he volunteered, but I could tell he didn't.

"No." both he and John said. They look at each other in surprise.

Sherlock turns to me. "There's no point in putting you on the couch now…just don't touch or clean up anything you find in my room, understand?"

I nod. "Thank you—"

"Don't thank me." He muttered in annoyance.

John cheerfully says. "I like my eggs Sunny-side up please."

We all ate in silence until Mrs. Hudson came in. She was sweet enough to check on me and insisted I keep the gown, and wondered if I would need to stay at her place.

"Thank you so much Mrs. Hudson, but I'm fine. Sherlock let me sleep in his bed."

Mrs. Hudson's expression was mortified. "What?" she turns on Holmes. "Sherlock Holmes! I thought you were a decent gentleman, how dare you impose yourself on this poor girl—"

I drop my fork onto my plate in shock as John bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"I slept on the couch Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock groaned.

Mrs. Hudson looked surprised as she smiled. "Oh, how kind of you Sherlock,"

I cover my face in embarrassment, but I swore I saw Sherlock smirking for a moment. I offer Mrs. Hudson some food, but she refused and thanked me. She then left, but not before telling Sherlock how proud she was of him for being a 'gentleman'. Sherlock rolled his eyes at this, but didn't say anything as he finished his breakfast.

Sherlock got up from the table without a word and grabbed some of the evidence he gathered and went to get dressed. I look at his plate and wondered if he liked breakfast. John seemed to have read my thoughts and said. "He really enjoyed breakfast; he usually doesn't eat. He must've really liked your food. I know I did."

I smile at John; he was so thoughtful. "Thank you John,"

John smiled back at me as he helped me clear the table. "Trust me, Sherlock has a hard time relating to people and doesn't realize when he insults them…he may be a genius, but he's clueless with people." He looks at me curiously. "It surprises how nice he's trying to be to you."

"Huh?" I almost drop a plate. "Why would he try to be nice to me?"

"Well, just how he acts around you is different—"

"It reminds me of how he treats you and Mrs. Hudson, but I think he's only being nice to me because he feels sorry for me." I wash the plates as John dries them. "I'm grateful for your kindness as well John; you're a good friend."

John raises his eyebrows in surprise. "You consider me as a friend?"

"Well, I hope so," I smile timidly as John grins:

"You're a remarkable girl Angelina—"

"You can call me Angel; that's what people like to call me." I told him.

"Alright, well I'm glad to have you with us Angel."

I tilt my head in confusion once again. "Why's that?"

John shrugs. "It's good to have a smiling face around here that isn't painted on the wall." He laughs to himself as I remember the spray paint smiley face on the wall and laughed with him. We stopped when Sherlock walks in and gives us a muddled look. He seemed bothered as he looked between us and dryly inquired. "Ready to go?"

"Where?" I ask.

"Bart's."

John frowns and looks at me. "Not to the morgue?"

"Of course," Sherlock buttons up his coat. "I need to examine the body as well as run some more tests on the evidence. Molly told me that the NCIS pathologist was finished with the body, so I'll be looking through the leftovers."

I bite my lip and grab my purse. John notices my expression. "You can stay—"

"No, she'll be coming with us—" Sherlock told him.

"She doesn't have to—" John argued.

"Yes she does, I'm not going to leave her here where she could be attacked. Bart's is quite safe." Sherlock gives me a questionable look; his good mood returning. "Don't worry, the faster we get there the faster we'll solve this."

I give them a smile and nod. "I'll be fine, besides…I want to say goodbye to Johnny."

Both men stare at me in concern again and I sigh. "What?"

"You won't have an emotional breakdown, will you?" Sherlock asks as he watches me warily.

"No promises, but I'll be okay, you don't need to worry. I'm feeling much better this morning." The two men still give me doubtful stares at my optimism. "If it makes you feel better I can cry now."

They both shook their heads quickly and escorted me out of the flat; this time I wore a hat and glasses along with one of Sherlock's trench coats as a disguise.

When we make it into the morgue we were greeted by a kind woman named Molly Hooper. She led us to the lockers and pulls out the body of Johnny. I see the sutures made after he was dissected and the identity tag on his toe. Holmes grabbed a pair of surgical scissors and started to cut the threads. He then proceeded to open Johnny up. I watched; feeling sick. Of all the human dissections I've witnessed; I'd never felt like this. I rushed out of the room quickly. I sit in the hallway and put my head on my knees. John quickly walks out to check on me:

"Angel, do you need me to take you back to Baker Street?"

"No, Sherlock said—"

"Screw what he said; if this bothers you I'll take you back to Baker Street."

"I'll be okay John. I've done this before…it's just more personal this time. I still need to say goodbye." I stand up; trying to keep my hands from shaking.

John watches me and finally nods; we were about to go back in when Sherlock rushes out with a couple of sample bags. "What are you doing out here?" he asks us.

John gives Sherlock a look as he continued. "Ah, you're having an emotional breakdown. The sweat perspiring on your brow, shaking hands, and shallow breathing tells me you're nervous and nauseated, but the fact you haven't ran into a bathroom or puked in the morgue shows that it isn't the dissection that bothers you—it's the person."

"Isn't obvious?" I dryly ask him.

Sherlock smirks at me. "I'll be in the lab running some tests and then I'm heading back to Baker Street to look at the disk. John when you get the results bring them to me immediately." Sherlock disappears in a fit of excitement. John and I walk into the morgue. I see Molly walk back in with some coffee and give it to Holmes.

I have déjà vu of when I made coffee runs for my friends. NCIS agents lived on coffee; even Trent, but he always stuck with chocolate flavors. He had a bit of a sweet tooth that his dentist and I constantly bother him about him eating so much candy. Trent would simply reply:

"Candy is my stress reliever: Gibbs has carpentering and coffee, Abby has Caf-pow and music, McGee has computer games and writing, Ziva has swimming and running, and Tony has womanizing and movies. I have candy and sports; take that away and I'll explode!"

I start laughing to myself at my brother's past antics. I soon stop when everyone starts staring at me like I've lost my mind. I notice Sherlock beginning to leave, but he looks over at me to say: "Stop blushing, we all know you're not insane, well not completely." He then leaves me behind with John and Molly.

Molly giggles. "Wow, Sherlock just made a joke—isn't that funny?"

I grin in agreement with her and John; _Yes, funny that._

* * *

Sherlock walks into his flat and up to his room. He takes the disk out of his trench coat and shoves it into his laptop:

"**4th. Hudson came. Same old platform.**

**7th. Sent the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and John Swain, of St. Augustine. **

**9th. McCauley cleared.**

**10th. John Swain cleared. **

**12th. Visited Paramore. All well."***

Sherlock looked at the date the file was saved: **March 12****th,**** 2006**. Sherlock opened a window and researched: **March 2006 deaths of McCauley, John Swain, and Paramore**

Sherlock shifted through boring results of blogs and funeral announcements of local newspapers, and remembered why he hated google. He finally found police reports:

**March 10****th****- John Swain and his wife Jessie were driving home in their olds mobile when their car exploded; burning and instantly killing both the driver and passenger. **

**March 11****th****- Arthur McCauley, missing since the 9****th****, found in the Mississippi river. Death by drowning.**

**March 12****th****- Luke Paramore committed suicide from cyanide poisoning by vehicle exhaust. **

Sherlock madly grinned; the list before him was a hit list. Just like the Shaws; McCauley, Swain, and Paramore's deaths were made to look like accidents. Whatever he smelt in Shaw's lungs and the bath oil must've been a drug that the killer used to draw out its victims. It was more than a one man job, since the file was undoubtedly an email sent to Elias Shaw to confirm the targets were taken down. One of the men's names were Hudson—amusing that Mr. Hudson was a criminal himself, but this was way above his level. Why not kill only Elias Shaw? Why the father and son as well…unless the entire family are targets…no that was stupid they all would have been killed when they attended the funeral. There was something else—the estate—no, assassins wouldn't kill for something so obvious. The deaths had no connection to the KKK like the others did—

There was a knock on his door as Mrs. Hudson called: "Sherlock?"

Sherlock frowned in frustration. "What!"

"You have some visitors; agents from NCIS," Mrs. Hudson sounded nervous. "They want to talk to you."

"I'm busy," Sherlock shouted out.

The door suddenly opens and agent Gibbs walks through with Angelina's large twin trailing behind him:

"Good, because I have plenty of time." Gibbs glares at Sherlock and smirked at the detective's annoyed glower.

"Hmm, no I don't think you do: you aren't the patient type agent Gibbs and I have plenty of thinking to do—"

"I don't care." Gibbs snapped indignantly.

Sherlock didn't even flinch from Gibbs' uncompromising tone. "What a coincidence: I honestly don't care about your need to solve this case, but go ahead and ask your questions."

"You sure?" Trent taunted.

"'**Are** you sure,'" Sherlock corrected Trent, who looked like he wanted to strangle him. Holmes smirked at irking Trent Garrio and hissed: "Try me."

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**Haha-I love my character interactions-they're so much fun to write. Please review and critique my writing and characters, so I know that I'm doing alright. Thanks for reading and reviewing! :)**


	11. Chapter 11: Attacked

**Author's Note: Hellos! I just want you all to know-**

**Younger brother walks in: "Hey guys,"**

**"Son of a- No. You are not commenting on this story too! Go back to _Magical Encounters_, but for God's sakes leave this story be!" Author throws her arms in the air in exasperation. "Readers I apologize ahead of time for my brother."**

**"Well, this story could use my clever comments. How could you keep me away from this? I love NCIS! Especially Ziva..."**

**"How did you get in here? I thought I locked that door-"**

**"Hahaha. Locks are easy to pick as long as you have a credit card. Face it; I'm smarter than you."**

**"Argh, just go away, my readers are probably wishing for this too."**

**"Nooo, everyone loves me, btw readers; this chapter is graphic. I mean I was like :O "**

**"It's not that bad! It just has violence, gore, and... It's a freakin' murder mystery for crying outloud!" Author pushes brother out the door. "I'm so sorry about this, I wish I could say this is last time you'll see him, but I'm afraid he's too tenascious to be stopped. Please review, I love reviews. Thanks for reading and reviewing!" :D**

* * *

Gibbs frowned as he looked at the thin man sitting lazily in front of him. McGee told him that Sherlock Holmes was a consulting detective…could have fooled him. Trent was restless as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and was looking around the room for any sign of his sister. Gibbs stepped up to him and asked. "Where is she?"

"You should be more specific Agent Gibbs." Holmes told him as his eyes analyzed him like a specimen. Gibbs had the musk of saw dust on him. Impressions of ring markings on his ring fingers. He was a carpenter of sorts and had remarried many times. He then saw a callous marking on his hand: trigger finger; uses guns consistently. Stature and appearance screamed military. His dialect was northern; Pennsylvania if he was correct, but he was sure he barely visited his hometown due to working in DC. His eyes were sharp; seeing that he spotted Holmes from such a far distance at Smith's crime scene. Sniper—that's it; his vision focus and constant use of long range guns was due to his experience as a sniper. The smell of coffee told him that this man was addicted to it. Holmes smirked at the man's manner; he was the type of man who didn't take any idiocy, impatient, and a leader.

The young man next to him was Angelina's twin brother and he could see from the numerous cavities and chocolate smudges on his sleeve that he lived on chocolate. His muscle structure was more athletic than military, but he was experienced seeing that he analyzed the room many times: probably estimating if his sister had been here, what was the best escape route, and what to manipulate in a battle. The boy's attitude was respectful, but arrogant. Over confidence most likely derived from making it into NCIS ranks through surpassing multiple schools and military training. He was standing close to Gibbs like a child; faithful, respectful, and naïve: in need of guidance. He could tell from his stance he was impatient to find his sister: fiery temper from the looks of his white knuckles and glowering scrutiny.

Gibbs leaned over and put his hands on either side of the chair's arms. "Alright; where the hell is Angelina Garrio?" He glared at Holmes evenly as his voice was extremely controlled and filled with authority.

"I'm not afraid of snipers or Marines agent Gibbs, so intimidation is a rather idiotic interrogation method." Holmes smiled as Gibbs' face was still controlled, but he blinked in surprise.

"How did you know that?" Gibbs scrutinized Holmes.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's painfully obvious you're military and the callouses on your trigger finger as well as your precise vision indicated you were a sniper."

"Where is she?" Trent asked as he took a step forward.

Holmes sighed. "Your sister is fine agent Garrio."

Trent narrowed his eyes; he wanted answers. "If you're keeping her from NCIS—"

"You can't arrest me without any evidence and I doubt you would come after me due to your subordination to Gibbs." Sherlock told him. "You may have graduated ahead of everyone else, but you fail to even catch up with me."

Trent scowled; surprised the man knew he graduated ahead of his class. "And what makes you think Gibbs could stop me from getting to you?"

Gibbs gave Trent a cold stare; causing him to look at the floor in embarrassment. He wished Gibbs would let him demonstrate rule #16* on this smart-ass. (*If someone thinks they have the upper hand—break it.)

Holmes smirked. "Again; intimidation is a waste of time for you all."

Gibbs stared at him. "When did she become your client?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance. "That is a stupid—ay!" Gibbs suddenly slapped him in the back of the head.

Sherlock felt angered he didn't dispatch the agent for that and hissed. "Don't. Hit. Me."

"Then answer my questions!" Gibbs' voice was slightly raised in irritation as he glared down at the consulting detective.

Holmes stood face to face with him. "She became my client at 11:30 am after she was chased by an intruder. She is being framed for Shaw's murder and required my assistance."

"Why didn't she contact anyone?" Gibbs had to tilt his head up slightly to meet his rival's gaze. He wanted answers now even if it meant he had to make enemies with London's finest.

"For God's sakes, Don't be stu—foolish. I told her not to contact you because she would simply be arrested by you all." Holmes scoffed at their idiocy; they were almost as bad as Scotland Yard.

Gibbs stayed silent as he searched Sherlock's stare. He then turned to Trent: "Call Lestrade and let him know that his 'consulting detective' is withholding a suspect from this investigation."

Sherlock scowled. "What! You're honestly going to endanger her to have your own way? To think that she believed you would help is beyond me—"

Gibbs quickly turned and growled. "If you're trying to say something then say it before I read you of your rights."

Holmes gave Gibbs a seething look and spoke slowly. "I will not give up my client."

The room became silent and heated as Gibbs and Holmes glared each other down. Trent narrowed his eyes at Holmes and hoped Gibbs would snap on him.

* * *

Molly gives John the evidence samples and some papers; they had all been chatting together about the case, and luckily Molly was willing to keep Angelina a secret as well, but Angelina had yet to go over to the lockers where Johnny was. He could tell that saying goodbye was going to be hard for her and that she wanted to be alone when she did it. He looks at the evidence results and knew Sherlock would need them ASAP. He peers at Angelina; she was quite safe in Bart's…but—

"John, you can go and drop off the results to Sherlock. I'll stay here for a bit…" Angelina said, like she was reading his mind.

"I don't think—" John tried to argue.

"No one will think to look for me here, besides, Sherlock said I was safer here than Baker Street. I can take care of myself." She pats her purse where her gun was. "Trust me…I just need some time alone."

John looks over at Molly who says. "Don't worry; it's just me in here today and the hospital has a great security system."

John finally agrees and leaves; he walked quickly, but for some reason his leg was bothering him again. For something psychosomatic; it was really troubling him lately. He hurried into a cab; he wanted to get back quickly. He thought about Sherlock's reaction to him leaving, but decided his friend would be indifferent; as long as he had his evidence.

I look down at the body and told Johnny. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you, but I promise I'll find out who did this to you…and I'll make things right. I won't let you die in vain Johnny." I finally close the locker and hear Molly approach.

"I've made you some coffee." She hands me a cup with an awkward smile.

"Thank you," I told her gratefully; she was such a nice girl.

"Was he your friend?" she asked timidly.

"Yes, I knew him since high school." I remember the goofy boy who let me sit at his lunch table; our first meeting and the beginning of our friendship.

Molly nodded. "I hope you find peace."

I look at her in surprise as she stutters. "S-sorry—I mean I know what it's like to lose someone and how hard it is to move on. I just hope it won't be hard for you."

I give her a small smile. "Thank you, I hope so too."

I suddenly hear doors slam open and Molly's head shoots up. "It must be John," she grinned as she goes over to the door. I drop my coffee and race over as I hear her shriek. I see two men in masks and gloves; one was holding Molly. No weapons; big mistake. I grab a pan and chuck at the head of Molly's captor. I then strike the other man in the diaphragm as hard as I could. He loses his breath and crazily lashes out with a right hook. I dodge it and grab the arm twist it. He hits me with his free hand; resulting in a black eye. I underestimated him and he shoves me into a table. I fall to my side, but jump up and grabbed a pick from the tools and my knife. I look over at my purse across the room; I needed to get to it. I slice out with my knife to keep the man back. The other man runs at me; jab the tool into his shoulder and kick him down to the floor. Molly tries to run, but is caught by the man who hit me. I run over and grab the gun from my purse and aim it at the man. When he turns when I was about to confront him, but froze when I saw he was holding a knife against Molly's throat.

In a dreadful, foax British dialect he told me. "Drop your weapons."

I slowly place them on the floor and kept my eyes on Molly. I was suddenly hit from behind and fell to my knees as my head throbbed. The man behind me wore the exact shoes as my shooter and I felt fear freeze me as he grabbed my hair and said. "Well, it's the one that got away…and she has a friend."

Molly whimpered as the knife was pressed into throat.

"No, stop," I said; hoping my voice sounded firm.

The man wrenches on my hair roughly. "Not yet, we need someone to carry a little message to the police—"

I watch Molly as horror filled me. "I'll do it!"

"What?" the captor asked.

"I'll carry the message; just don't hurt her. She has nothing to do with this." Tears leaked out of Molly's terrified eyes.

The man behind me grunted. "Fine by me," He pushes me against the floor and I hear him grab something from the table. I clench my fists fearfully as the back of my dress is cut away and my bra unclasped. I inhale sharply as I felt the cold metal pierce my skin. "Try not to scream," the man told me as the knife tore into my skin. I clench my fists tighter to keep from crying until my nails cut into my skin. The slices felt deep and stung as blood ran down my back and soaked my clothes. I softly hyperventilated and wondered what he was writing. He stops and gives my back a slap; causing a tremor to run through me. "How does it look?"

I could hear Molly sobbing quietly as the captor said. "It's missing something."

"You're right," I hear something open and I hissed as a stinging liquid was poured onto my cuts. I close my eyes tightly as I shook in pain. The man stands up and walks away, the other man throws Molly down next to me and leaves us while saying. "Be sure to let Sherlock, Scotland Yard, and NCIS know everything that happened and that the next time we see you; you'll be dead."

As soon as they leave; I burst into tears. Molly crawls over to me: "Angelina?"

"Please! Get this stuff off me," I sobbed; while fighting the urge to claw the searing liquid off my back. I feel warm blood cake onto my skin and soak my dress. "D-don't call anyone, but Holmes—"

Molly runs away and comes back with water, disinfectant, and bandages. She pours the water on me; washing away the liquid and blood. She then applies disinfectant and quickly bandages me up. She tries to help me onto a table as I wept and shook.

"Don't worry, I'll call them now. I've patched you up as well as I can." Molly tries to soothe me and grabs my phone and dials a number. Her hands were covered in blood and were shaking as well. I look over at where I was and saw blood covered the floor. I hyperventilated as she made the call; trying to calm myself as traumatic memories ensued.


	12. Chapter 12: Protection Detail

Someone suddenly walked in the midst of Gibbs and Sherlock's stare off; he set his cane aside cautiously as he watched them all.

"Should I give you all a minute?" he asked.

Sherlock gave John an irritated look; he only heard his friend's footsteps and no one else's. _Moron_, _You left her at the morgue. _"What is it John?"

John holds up some papers. "I have the results of the lung samples."

Holmes quickly snatched the papers and read through the results. Trent looked over at 'John'. "Where's Angelina Garrio?"

John frowned as he lied. "Who?"

"They know John." Sherlock muttered. _Why did you leave her there! I suppose it's better than having him bring her here…no, it was still stupid._

"Oh… you must be NCIS; Angelina has been talking about you—" John was interrupted.

"Don't tell them where she is!" Sherlock gave his friend an angered look and then went back to his work with an excited air.

Trent ignored Holmes and kept on watching John. "She's my sister."

Holmes scoffed and Trent walked up to him. "What?"

Sherlock peered at him and snorted. "You're extremely arrogant if you think you could protect her by yourself—"

"He won't be the only one." Answered Gibbs.

Holmes threw his hands in the air. "Will you two shut up!"

John groaned as the agents' faces clouded with murderous intent.

Sherlock, however, didn't care as he continued his tirade. "She is safe with me; I am the only one who can actually protect her from arrest and the murderer—"

John's phone suddenly went off and he answered it. "Hello—Molly slow down! What happened." Watson's eyes widened in shock. Sherlock knew something was wrong and quickly puts on his trench coat. "Are you two alright—what?" John listened as everyone watched anxiously. "Wait there we're on the way." John peered at Sherlock and the agents. "That was Molly…two men broke into the morgue and attacked them—Angelina was knifed—"

Sherlock ran out of the flat so quickly, the others could barely catch up with him. He ran into the street and stopped a cab. He wrenched the door opened and jumped in as everyone else followed suit. Trent replied angrily at him. "What was that about her being safe?"

Sherlock ignored him as he ordered the cab driver to take them to Bart's; hoping that he was right about Angelina being safe…

* * *

Gibbs called Tony and told him to go to Bart's morgue and to bring everyone. Tony asked his boss what happened and only received:

"It's Angel; she's been attacked." Gibbs hung up the phone as Tony held it to his ear for a moment and snapped to attention. He rushed everyone into a cab as quickly as he could. He kept thinking about Angel…she was probably fine...right? He and the entire team trained her how to fight and she was an A+ student at it…she was alright. She had to be.

* * *

Sherlock shoved the doors opened as he rushed through with his firearm. As he turned a corner he ran into Molly. Molly shrieked, but realized it was Sherlock and sobbed. "Sh-sherlock I'm sorry."

Sherlock put his hand under her chin and checked her face: tear stained…but unmarked. He looked at her neck and his jaw clenched as he saw a red mark where a knife was pressed against her throat. He also saw bruises on her arms and wrists. Molly's hands were stained with blood. Sherlock held her shoulders. "Molly you're alright; everything's alright." She calmed down as he told her this. "Angelina?"

Molly burst into tears again as Sherlock ran into the morgue. What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. The room was a mess and blood covered the floor where Angelina had been lying, but now she was on a table. She looked up at Sherlock and he saw a black eye and tears streaming down her face. He saw that the back of her dress was torn and her back was covered in bloody bandages; her clothes were soaking wet. She lay on her stomach and seemed to be in too much pain to get up.

Sherlock saw from the disarray in the room that she had fought the intruders off, but she was subdued. They forced her onto the floor and…

John was suddenly by his side and took in the scene, but they finally raced over to Angelina. "Angelina! You're going to be alright; NCIS is here." Sherlock saw she was shaking. John started to remove the bandages. John cursed as Sherlock glared down at the markings. Someone had taken a surgical knife and carved three K's into her back. Sherlock saw inflammation and realized the attackers also poured something onto the wounds. He felt the anger boil inside of him as he smelt a citrus aroma. They carved the letters into her and then saturated the wounds with orange extract… it was a threat. This _message _was telling him that the intruders could get to his client and do whatever they wanted. That's why she was still alive and tortured; it was a way to get under his skin. John started to clean the wounds and they heard more people enter. Angelina whimpered. "No! Don't let them in here! I don't want them to see—"

Gibbs ran in and saw everything as he stared at Angelina's back. His expression turned stormy and furious, but soon changed to one of sympathy as he held her face. "You alright?"

She nodded timidly as she held his hands. "Y-yeah, just a little shaky…you should have seen the other guy, Uncle Jethro."

Gibbs kissed her forehead and held her head like a father would hold his child. "Don't worry I'm here; they won't get to you with me here."

The rest of the agents rushed in. Ziva surveyed the room and her eyes rested on Angelina's back she stayed stock-still. Tony's eyes narrowed at the injuries. McGee at the door with a shocked expression as Trent pushed passed him. Trent knelt by his sister and grabbed her hand. "Hey,"

"Hey." She gave him a weak smile and grimaced as Watson started to wrap up the wounds. Ducky walks in and places a hand on her head. He checks the wounds and pats her head affectionately.

Gibbs made his orders. "Dinozzo; I want you to analyze the video cameras; I want to know who got in here and how."

"On it boss," Tony shoots Angelina one last glance before leaving.

"McGee; talk to the girl and see what you can find out—"

Sherlock felt confused as he interrupted. "Angelina would be a better—"

Gibbs peered at Sherlock coldly and silenced him. Sherlock shut his mouth, and glowered at the agent in frustration; Gibbs was trying to protect Angelina from her memories. _Damn sentiment_.

McGee nodded and left the room to comfort Molly.

"Trent; photos." Trent reluctantly started his work.

Sherlock noticed that Angelina's hands were bleeding. He unclenched her fist to see small half-moon cuts in in her palms. His face became dark as he realized she clenched her nails into her palm until skin broke. She was in a tremendous amount of pain as well as shock, but she wasn't outwardly showing it now.

I couldn't really look at anyone as they crowded around me. I felt ashamed that I couldn't fight off my attackers, but I was relieved that everyone was here. Sherlock suddenly lifted my fingers from my palm and his eyes burned when he looked at me. Was he… angry? My back ached and stung from the wounds. I was shaken that they were able to take me down so easily; they were trained from what I saw. I wished they didn't let Trent in; he didn't need to see this. Everyone wore expressions of concern and disgust at my scars.

I finally broke the silence; upset my voice sounded so frail. "It was a message for you all…" Everyone in the room listened to me as I continued. "They wanted to have one of us carry a message…I volunteered. Two men broke in and tried to subdue us. I fought back, but they had Molly…they pinned me down and said they worked for the murderer of Johnny and needed to deliver a message to the police. I thought—they were going to kill the messenger. They took out a surgical blade and sliced into my back. I could tell they were disguising their voices...they wore gloves and masks. The shoes though—one of them wore the shoes of the man who shot at me. They told me the next time they see me, they'll kill me. They then put something on my cuts and it stung…I don't know what it was." I buried my face in my arms in shame—why was I so weak? I feel someone stroke my head gently and then the hand disappeared.

I heard some people leave and saw that Ducky was the only one left in the room with me. He held my hand as he told me. "Don't worry my dear; we'll catch them."

Gibbs walked ahead of everyone and quickly turned to face Holmes and Watson.

"I'm taking Angelina into custody—"

"No," Sherlock told them stoically.

Gibbs walked up to him until they were face to face. He grabs Sherlock's collar to bring him down to his level as he thundered. "She was just knifed on your charge; I don't give a damn about your reputation or reasons for keeping her. I'm taking her with me—"

"So she'll be tried and interrogated like a criminal, we barely have enough evidence to show she didn't commit the murder. I won't give up my client until I have all the evidence I need to prove her innocence." Sherlock wrenches out of his grasp and turns to walk back to the morgue, but Trent roughly grabs his arm. Sherlock twisted out of his grip and hits the agent's arm away. Trent blocks the hit and the two start thrashing at each other. Holmes boxed Trent's ears and Trent threw Holmes against a wall to pin him. Gibbs grabs Trent by the scruff of the neck and pulls him off Holmes. "Enough!" he yelled. Trent glared at Holmes as Holmes glared back.

I heard the fighting in the next room and got up to race out. Ducky tried to stop me, but I made it into the hallway to see Gibbs pull Trent off of Holmes.

"What are you doing?" I snap hoarsely. Everyone sees me and John goes over to me:

"You need to lie down—"

"No," I stumble over to stand between Trent and Holmes. "I heard everything and we need to settle this. Gibbs…I'm staying with Sherlock."

The look on Gibbs face was surprised, but I continued. "He's right about not having enough evidence to prove my innocence. I won't be able to defend myself in jail in this state; especially a foreign one where I would be targeted. If I'm with you they'll be able to find me easily. I need to stay with Holmes and Watson…unless you want to arrest me now."

Ziva, Gibbs, and Trent stared at me as tense silence followed. I see Molly and McGee peeking at me from down the hall in concern. I go up to Ziva and put my trembling hands together so I can be cuffed. Ziva takes my hands and puts them back to my sides. "I'm sorry Gibbs, but they're right." She looks at Gibbs apologetically.

Gibbs nods and walks up to me. He holds my face. "You trust them?"

"Yes sir, I do." I tell him as he kisses my forehead. I give him a hug as I walk over to John and Sherlock. I sway and take Sherlock's arm to steady myself. His arm tenses uncomfortably and I take my hand away.

Gibbs looks at John and Sherlock. "Alright, you can stay with them, but I'll be sending someone over every day to guard you."

"You don't have to—" I started, but Gibbs taps the back of my head.

"Every day." He tells me.

He then goes over to Molly and McGee. Trent glowers at Sherlock and John. He goes up to me and hugs me. He then says. "If either of you let her get hurt again I'll shoot you instead of beat you."

"Trent!" I scowl at him as he shrugs and walks off.

"He's very ambitious," Sherlock murmured.

"What's that?" John asked as Ducky helps me back to the table.

"He thinks that he could kill me." Sherlock grinned.

John snickered with him. "Can't say I blame him."

"He may not be able to kill you," Ziva David just said. The two men see her working on her nails with a knife; she closes it as she tells them. "But I can."

The two men watch her walk into the morgue with frightened expressions.

"Is she ambitious as well?" John wondered as he gawked at her.

"No John, she actually can kill us." Sherlock told him; slightly piqued.

I went back to the flat with John and Sherlock as Ziva went to the flat to meet us. Everyone agreed that McGee would stay over at Molly's to look after her and make sure she was alright; no one had to tell Tim twice. I could tell that Molly and Tim seemed interested with each other, but I couldn't spend much time to think about it as I was rushed to Baker Street. I look at John and Sherlock; they were silent. I sigh. "I don't blame you for what happened,"

John stares at me and gives a nod. "I shouldn't have left though."

"I'm alive, that's all that matters, as well as Molly's safety." I give them a small smile. "I'm fine, it doesn't hurt anymore." I lied to set them at ease. John leaned back in relief, but Sherlock glared at me. I had a feeling he knew I was lying.

When we get inside, Mrs. Hudson came in and made a fuss over me. When I reassured her I was fine; I went to bed. As I got dressed into the nightgown I look out the window and saw Ziva was across the street watching the flat. I felt my back ache painfully, so I laid down on my stomach as I tried to fall back asleep.

I tossed and turned as different murder scenes raced through my nightmares. I dreamt of the knife gouging my flesh and seeing the men shoot Molly…no it was Trent…John…Abby…Sherlock! I woke up with a jolt and realized I was sobbing in my sleep. I someone places a hand on my arm. I grab the hand and reflexively and saw it was Sherlock. I let go of his hand and hold the blankets close to my body. "Sh-sherlock, sorry—"

"You're bleeding," he told me.

I see a bloodstain on the pillow and touch my back. I ripped my bandages off. My cuts stung painfully. Sherlock swats my hand away and looks at my back and curses. "You clawed the scars back open."

I shake as felt his cold fingers on my back. "Lie down and hold still," he told me. I listened and heard him leave and quickly come back.

He cleans my scars up and bandages me up. I was still trembling.

"You are not fine." He told me harshly as he finished.

I don't answer. He closes my gown and throws the bloodied pillow to the corner of the room.

"I'm sor—"

"Don't!" he snapped.

I grip the sheets and tried not to cry; I was ridiculous to act this way. He sits on the edge of the bed. "You had a nightmare;" Sherlock told me; his voice calmer than before. "From your flailing and upset manner I can tell it was from what happened in the morgue."

"Yes," I start crying. "I thought I was going to die…just like everyone else. Sometimes, looking back, I wish I died…I wonder why I'm still alive… and they're dead." I was so distraught from the nightmare that I was saying everything that I was thinking. What was wrong with me? Was I finally losing it?

Sherlock watched me as I sobbed and finally places a gentle hand on my back. He then looks around the room, and moves his hand to my head and strokes my hair hesitantly.

He had a memory that he didn't delete from his mind palace yet. It was when he was a child; he had a night terror and his mother soothed him by stroking his hair. He thought the results would be similar; the person would calm, cease their sobbing, and fall back asleep.

I froze as Sherlock stroked my hair; chills went through me as I felt calmer. This was strange…but I didn't want it to stop. I roll over to face him. "Thank you," I tell him. Sherlock watches me; he was unsure what to say, but I could tell he was trying.

I lie back down and stare at the ceiling; wincing as the mattress pressed against the bandages. Sherlock lies down next to me and stares at the ceiling with me: "You feel responsible for their deaths…the people that died. That's why you always put yourself on the line for others; because you feel like you need to protect and die for them. Your guilt and compassion drives your actions—"

"That's who I am," I tell him.

"Well stop it," he told me heatedly. He stares at me darkly. "Stop trying to get yourself killed."

I stare at him in shock; I really was transparent, but he didn't understand. "I don't want to die Sherlock, but I don't want anyone to die for me." I explain.

Sherlock sits up to look down at me. "Why, why do you do it?" I see it was something that was eating at his thoughts.

I stare at him sadly. "Because…if I don't, a small part of me dies with them. And I can never forget it; not until the day I die. That's selfish; isn't it? Not wanting people to die because it upsets me that I can't be with them. I also do it because I want them to live."

Sherlock lays back down as my eyes begin to close.

Sherlock watches her closely as thoughts raced through his head; why does she not care about her life in comparison to someone else? It was like she was born without self-preservation. It was stupid, but fascinating. She was extremely breakable, even though she did a good job disguising her fragility, it was shown in times when she was vulnerable. She stayed asleep for a while and her hand gripped onto the sheets for security. Sherlock soon drifted off, but didn't bother to leave…not yet…he needed to think. The drug results in the bath oil were DMSO and sodium cyanide; the two chemicals reacted together in the water and absorbed through Shaw's skin. It started the kill him from the inside and he was too weak to fight back as the assassin came in through the window and drowned him. It was a smart plan, but easily solved…but why go after Angelina? He wondered why the attackers thought torturing Angelina would be a threat to him; he also wondered why it worked.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reseved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips, which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**Brother reads chapter. "Well, isn't someone becoming attached. This doesn't seem like something Sherlock would do..."**

**Author rolls eyes. "Yes, yes, I know, but how would we know how he would react to someone like Angelina?"**

**"Touche'"**

**"Well, I hope he's not too much out of character...but I have a plan."**

**"Yippie, but please tell me there be more Ziva chapters."**

**"Why?"**

**"B/c Ziva is freakin' amazing."**

**"Sherlock is amazing you mean."**

**"No, Ziva!"**

**"Sherlock!"**

**"Tiva!"**

**"Johnlock!"**

**"What?"**

**"I don't know..." ;D**


	13. Chapter 13: Mornings

My eyes flutter open, and I tried to stretch, but something constricted my arms. I froze as I felt someone's breath against my neck. I see someone's thin arm draped across me and felt Sherlock's body pressed against my back. _Oh my God,_ I thought. _Was he here all night? Ugh, I can't move he's too strong! Well, at least he only has one arm around me. Why am I enjoying this?_

I lay there for a moment as I felt Sherlock's chest move against me as he breathed. I felt like a human teddy bear as he held me closer and muttered something. I decide to help him wake up and whisper. "Sherlock," One of Sherlock's legs draped over mine. I tense as I whispered frantically. "Sherlock, wake up!"

I feel him move a bit and he hissed; quickly letting me go and sitting up. I sit up and stretch while watching him. He gawks at me; trying to make sense about what happened. I stare at him as I blush. "You, uh, fell asleep."

"I know," he said; returning to his stoic self.

"You okay?" I ask; he was agitated as he grabbed his trench coat and pulled it on.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" he stood up to smooth out his shirt.

"No reason, thank you for staying with me last night."

"It wasn't my intention."

"Okay,"

"I fell asleep accidently—"

"Of course."

"I would never try—"

"No need to explain."

"Right," he leaves me quickly as I close the door to get dressed. I realize that I didn't have any clothes to change into and was about to walk out of the room when someone knocks on the door. "Angelina, it's Ziva,"

I open the door with a smile on my face. As soon as I saw Ziva I hugged her. Ziva smirked as she separated from me and gives me a bag. "Here, there are some clothes of mine that you can borrow." She then sees the bloodied pillow. "Why did I see Sherlock leave this room?"

I blush as I realized what she was thinking. "Oh God—no, no, nothing happened. He just slept in the bed with me accidently—"

"Oh please, no man does that accidently." Ziva tells me as she goes toward the door.

I grab her arm and begged. "Please don't kill him; he wasn't trying anything!"

Ziva raised her eyebrows at me.

"Ziva, we didn't do anything; he would never try to do anything with me! He just helped me last night when I had a nightmare. It's as innocent as the time you and Tony pretended to be a couple."

Ziva frowns as she curses in a foreign tongue. I face-palm myself. "Oh God, just please don't let anyone know—"

"If nothing happened—"

"You know how the triple T's are!" Tony, Tim, and Trent were called the 'triple T's'; a name Abby created for them. And I knew what would happen; Tony would turn it into something dirty, Tim would accidently tell everyone about it, and Trent would try to kill Sherlock.

Ziva sighed. "Fine, I believe you."

"Thank you," I was happy to have Ziva with me; she was one of my dearest friends. She was like a big, overprotective sister to me, and she agreed with that fact when she told me that someone needed to watch over me. I wished that I could be as powerful as Ziva; she was strong, tough, and exotic. I was just…well, I'm a skinny redhead with mental fatigue.

Kate Todd was also like a big sister to me…we shared the same interests in drawing that we would hang out and sketch each other. Kate never really doubted me and gave me the confidence I needed to help out NCIS. My little sister Allie was also close to Kate, since Kate tutored her in sketching and self-defense. I remember painfully the day Kate was killed. I decided to tag along and help out everyone. I was on the roof with Gibbs, Tony, and Kate. I was supposed to be down with Trent and Tim, but I was the only who got away from being under fire. I was there to protect Gibbs with Kate from a terrorist named Ari. After the battle and the scare that Kate was shot, we all stood together congratulating Kate:

"You did good," Tony smirked as I beam at my friend.

"For once, Dinozzo is right." Gibbs smiled as he gazed at Kate with pride.

Kate scoffed happily. "Wow, I thought I'd die before I heard a comment like—"

BAM

Blood sprayed onto me as Kate lurched back. I shrieked as she hit the ground: "Kate!"

I see her as clearly as I see Ziva; bullet hole in the middle of her forehead and clam green eyes staring at nothing. I remember just standing there staring at her, and I didn't realize I was crying until I saw tears falling onto Kate's clothes. It was hard to remember her death; it was so quick, so final…then again, all deaths were.

* * *

Sherlock rushes downstairs and cursed silently as he saw John at the table casually reading the paper. John only read the paper when he wanted to talk to Sherlock about it; he could tell that his friend wanted an explanation about why he wasn't on the couch. John peers at Sherlock and greets. "Morning," and then pretended to be reading the job description column's second line for the eighth time.

Sherlock sighed. "John, acting is not your strong suit, so just ask me the question that has been teasing your simple mind."

John puts the paper down with an annoyed air. Sherlock stared at the ceiling in exasperation; why were people so frustrated with the truth?

John turns to face Sherlock. "Why weren't you on the couch?"

"I was; until 3:15."

John's brow furrowed. "Where were you at 3:15?"

"In my room."

"Why?"

"Angelina was making an infernal racket and I had to see why she was shrieking and sobbing. She was having a nightmare and tore at her back to the point she ripped off her bandages and opened her scars back up."

"What!"

"Stop worrying John, I wrapped up the injuries and calmed her down."

"You did." John seemed surprised by this, but then turned suspicious. "What did you do afterwards?"

"I talked to her and found out she is subconsciously suicidal due to her overwhelming compassion for others and lack of self-preservation." Sherlock grabs the paper and reads through it; knowing the next thing he was going to tell John would no doubt cause him to overreact, so he said it as unemotionally as possible. "Oh, and I accidently slept with her."

"WHAT!" John jumps up from the chair as he gaped at Sherlock. "You got off with our client!"

"John you're shouting." Sherlock felt his ears burn in frustration, but he kept his tone imperturbable.

"Of course I'm shouting! Dammit Sherlock; you can't shag with someone who is trying to recuperate from torture."

"Are you angry?"

"Yes—no, I'm astonished that you and her—I'm angry because you took advantage of her! A girl who is traumatized—I can't believe you actually had sex with her."

"Good, because I didn't." Sherlock saw John's stiff shoulders and angered expression relax.

"You didn't?"

"Nope."

"Oh, why didn't you tell me—"

"I told you I slept with her; I didn't tell you I had sexual intercourse with her." Sherlock opened the paper back up and saw an article about Smith's death.

John sits down. "Oh, sorry about that—"

"I don't want a teary apology John; trust me when I say I won't be looking to do anything with anyone. Especially a woman."

"Why not?"

"Women are dangerously clever and unpredictable."

"Angelina isn't like that."

"Then you get off with her." Sherlock muttered.

John flushed. "No—we're just friends! Besides, I like someone else—"

"Don't tell me it's that co-worker Jeanette introduced you to—Mary Morstan is it?"

"How—"

"You've been texting her nonstop."

"Right, well, I guess you aren't attached to Angel," John paused and smirked.

Sherlock glares at him. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing,"

"Then leave me alone," Sherlock tries to go back to the paper, but then throws it down as John continued smirking. "What is it?"

John shrugged. "Nothing, it's just good that you aren't attracted to her—"

"I never said she wasn't attractive."

"No, I mean it's good you don't want her as a girlfriend—"

"Why?"

"Well…" John paused. "That one agent…" John tried to think of a name and remembered Dinozzo; he wanted to see how Sherlock would react to his pseudo observation. "Tony Dinozzo, seems to like her a lot."

"Don't be stupid John—"

"I'm just telling you what I see Sherlock."

"Your perception is obviously marred." Sherlock huffed with irritation. "Agent Dinozzo is a middle-aged womanizer who has no romantic relations with her—"

"Well, I guess we just have to see." John watched his friend carefully for any sign of jealousy; it was more amusing than crap telly.

Sherlock glowered at him. "Stop inflicting your opinions upon the world."

"Why so cross?"

Sherlock got up and stormed away while muttering. "Idiot,"

John smiled widely; he had just tricked one of the smartest people in the world. He then grabs his computer to blog about it.

* * *

Gibbs looks through the video feed with McGee as Dinozzo and Trent were out with Ducky to see the forensic results from Anderson. Gibbs watched as two men walked into the hospital; masks on. He and McGee rewound the feed multiple times, but all they got was the attackers entered and disappeared from the same spot. Gibbs suddenly stopped the feed and analyzes one of the windows. "McGee, zoom in here." Gibbs points to the spot."

"Wup, careful boss, this is a touch screen…" McGee stops talking when Gibbs gives him an irritated look.

McGee types a few keys which zooms in and clears up the view. They see a reflection in the window; a license plate on a black car. McGee cleans the picture until they get a clear number. McGee opens another window on his laptop and types it in, while the picture prints out.

"Look for cabs McGee," Gibbs told him as he grabs his coffee.

"Why cabs boss?" McGee asked and soon enough he saw a directory of a cab and its driver's schedules.

"What better way to travel unknown McProbie," Tony answered as he walked in with Ducky and Trent.

Trent peers at the picture that was printed out. "Also, look at the tail; pristine black and rounded; like all of the cabs around London."

"What did you get?" Gibbs asked them.

Ducky hands Gibbs the papers. "A sample on Johnathan Shaw's lungs and his skin showed signs of Dimethyl sulfoxide and sodium cyanide. This caused cyanide poisoning to occur which was killing poor Mr. Shaw, but it was the drowning that ultimately killed him. The killer wanted to be positive that Shaw would be killed, so they wanted to take a precaution by poisoning him with cyanide—"

"And sending the strangler in to finish the job, while a scout went in afterwards to make sure it was all clean. A professional group killing." Trent finished.

Ducky sighed at being interrupted. "Trent is right Jethro, and seeing how they were able to subdue Angelina proves that we are dealing with professionals."

Trent's phone suddenly went off and he checks it. "It's Abby."

"Then answer it." Gibbs told him.

* * *

Trent nods and leaves the hotel room and goes into the bathroom to talk to Abbey. He quickly answered as her ringtone, _Murder_ by Within Temptation, was reaching its chorus.

Abby's voice broke through loudly. "Trent! Why haven't you called me?"

"Hi Abby." Trent dryly answered.

"Oh yeah, hello; don't avoid the question Trent Kelly Garrio."

"It has been really busy around here Abby," Trent told her.

"Well, have you found Angel?" Abby's voice sounded childishly nervous.

"Yeah—"

"WHAT! Why didn't you call me?"

"We found her yesterday; she's hiding with Sherlock Holmes."

"Is she okay?"

Trent doesn't answer.

"Trent! You'd better tell me everything or I will never hug you again."

"Abby—"

"I'm sorry—I mean, I didn't really mean it. It's just that Angel is my best friend and I'm so worried about her. It's worse that I have to go back to our apartment and wonder if she'll be back sleeping in her _Starry Night_-jammies and hugging her Kindle..."

"Abby!" Trent interrupted her. "Angel is fine…but." Trent tells Abby everything.

"I-I can't believe this…" Abby replied.

"I know,"

"Who does this detective think he is! She could have been killed—Palmer stop freaking out she's going to be okay. Did Gibbs beat him into a pulp?"

"No, but I tried to."

Abby gasps. "If he placed one mark on you I will find him and I will use all of my forensic knowledge to crucify him!"

"Can I get that in writing?" Trent then added sympathetically. "It's going to be okay Abby; we are going to bring her home asap. And when we get there you can hug us all you want."

"Promise?"

"I promise Abby. I got to go."

"Okay, tell everyone I miss them and give Angel a hug for me."

* * *

Tony tells Gibbs his bit of news. "I had a nice chat with Detective Inspector Lestrade—no information on Angelina Garrio's whereabouts luckily, but he did find out something about the _Lone Star _crew. Five members have been found at a cozy motel and were brought in for questioning. They're starting the interrogation in a few minutes—"

Gibbs starts walking out of the room while ordering. "Right, Garrio go relieve Ziva and send her back here, Dinozzo you're with me. McGee, I want you to bring in the cab driver for questioning. Ducky, I need you to talk to Molly Hooper about the poisoning."

They all leave quickly into the busy London streets.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**Please review and critique my writing and characters, so I know that I'm doing alright. Thanks for reading and reviewing! :) Hehe, this chapter wasn't all that action-packed, more like comedy relief I guess...idk, I hope you all enjoyed the fluff.**


	14. Chapter 14: Meetings

Ziva and I go downstairs; wondering what all the shouting was about. We were met with a sight of John smiling and typing something on his laptop.

"Good morning John," I tell him as I looked for Sherlock.

"He's at the door talking to Lestrade," he looks over at me. "He told me what happened last night; I'll be sure to use more tape to keep the bandages from being ripped off."

"Thank you John." I watch him carefully. "Did he mention anything else?"

John peers at Ziva and goes back to typing. "Hmm, no, nothing else." he lied.

The door suddenly burst open. Ziva shoves me behind her as she aims the gun at—Sherlock. Sherlock raises his eyebrows at her like she was the insane one. Ziva growls. "I could have shot you—"

"We both know you're skilled enough not to make rookie mistakes with a firearm." Sherlock walks passed us and grabs some papers.

"How right you are, and you should know I can still shoot you without killing you Mr. Holmes." Ziva puts the gun away as she glared at Holmes. "While we are on the subject—"

Sherlock looks over at me and Ziva. "For God's sakes, I didn't attack her last night—"

"How did you know—"

"I know that you are a trained Mossad agent and a trained agent knows who their target sees, especially when spying on them."

Ziva gives Holmes a steady stare. "You are very wise Mr. Holmes, so I won't have to tell you what I'll do if you allow any harm to befall Angelina—"

"Your threats don't interest me agent David—"

"But they should warn you to tread lightly." Ziva told him.

I bow my head in embarrassment; why can't they let me take care of myself?

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he went through the papers and then started to rush out the door. I stop him before he leaves; making him glare at me in annoyance. "Where are you going?"

"To an interrogation,"

"Of who?"

"The crew of the _Lone Star; _the crabbing boat Mr. Calhourn, the man who attacked you twice, was a part of."

"I'll be going too."

"No." Everyone in the room told me.

I glower at all of them. "Ziva, tell them that I'm great at interrogation."

"An interrogation is the last thing you need." Ziva tells me in exasperation.

John adds. "She's right; you're in no shape to go out today."

"Unless you wish to be arrested by Scotland Yard, risk further injury, and endanger this case I suggest you stay put." Sherlock tells me as he looks through his phone.

I narrow my eyes at them in annoyance. "Those results would only happen if I'm caught—"

Sherlock ignores me. "Hurry up John; Lestrade is waiting outside for us."

John follows Sherlock out as he nods a goodbye to me and Ziva. I throw myself down in a chair. I suddenly got a crazy idea and yawned. I then stood up casually and faked a tired stumble and fell. Ziva races over to me and helps me up. "Alright, you need a nap."

"I'm alright," I felt both pleased and guilty that she bought my act so quickly. I fake another yawn. "But I am tired…I'll go upstairs and nap Ziva." I go up the stairs and give her a tired smile. As soon as I close the bedroom door behind me; I grab the wig and sunglasses while opening the window.

* * *

Sherlock and John make it to Scotland Yard where Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo were entering at the same time they were. They all stop and stare each other down. DiNozzo speaks first. "So, did Angelina sleep well?"

"Yes." Sherlock dryly answered. John peers at his friend to keep quiet.

John asks the agents. "So, are you here to interrogate the crew?"

"Yes, DiNozzo and I will be interrogating them." Gibbs emphasized this to Sherlock. "Is that clear Mr. Holmes?"

"Crystal," Sherlock gives him a cheerful smile and sarcastically added. "We'll be sure to take notes."

Gibbs smirks at Sherlock's quip.

DiNozzo replies. "You might need a notebook then."

* * *

Trent makes it to the flat where he meets the wonderfully kind Mrs. Hudson. He couldn't believe she could put up with Holmes, but from her gushing about him, and oddly how he put her husband to death on a case, she viewed Sherlock as a good man. She gave him more credit than he did. Trent reluctantly left the sweet woman and meets Ziva. He hands her some coffee and she kisses his cheek gratefully. A few years ago Trent would have melted under that kiss, but now that he knew Ziva better his puppy love changed into a platonic love for her. Ziva had always seen him as a sweet boy and an agent with great potential; her little friend.

"Hey Ziva, how's Angel?"

"She is asleep." Ziva sipped her coffee.

"Where?"

"Uh, in one of the bedrooms…" Ziva looked away from him at the moose head wearing headphones, like it was suddenly more interesting.

Trent peered at Ziva; she was hiding something. "Well tell me so I can check on her."

"No, she's completely fine."

"Ziva, was she sleeping in John's or Sherlock's room?"

"Sherlock's, but she has been sleeping there alone." Ziva quickly answered.

"Why are you lying?" Trent didn't like this.

"Why do you assume I'm lying?"

"Because you keep peering at that moose head like you want its number." Trent replied. He then put two and two together. "No, there's no way…Did Sherlock and her sleep in the same bed!"

"Only one time," Ziva puts up a hand to calm Trent. "Don't make a mountain out of a mouse hill Trent."

"It's mole hill, and why didn't you go in there and kick his ass!" Trent couldn't believe that he could despise one man so quickly.

Ziva glares at him. "You need to calm down—"

"The freaking consulting detective slept with my sister!"

"And I slept with Tony—" Ziva smacks Trent's arm when he gaped at her. "You know what I mean—nothing happened. If something did I would have handled it."

"Really?"

"Yes; it was a simple accident that your sister is handling more maturely than you." Ziva placed her hands on her hips. "All he did was fall asleep next to her after bandaging her back up because she ripped her bandages off in her sleep."

Trent frowned and kicked around a chunk of violin rosin on the floor. He felt stupidly sheepish. "Alright…so how did she react when she realized she couldn't go to the interrogation?" Trent mentally chuckled; knowing Angel probably threw a fit for not being able to go. Interrogations were her favorite and she was quite good at it.

Ziva allowed herself a wry smile. "She was not happy, but she was instantly exhausted and actually listened to me to get some rest."

"That's good," Trent suddenly frowned. "Wait, she just agreed with you without any argument?" The two agents look at each other and rush upstairs. They go into Sherlock's room and saw a small window was open and Angelina was gone. Trent saw she used the curtains. Ziva pulls the curtains back in and muttered curses in another language.

Trent laughed sardonically. "Yep, that's the Angel we know and love."

"What? Reckless and stubborn?" Ziva snipped as she rushed out with him.

"You forgot clever."

* * *

I walk through the streets toward the Scotland Yard department. Before I get there; someone grabs me and pulls me into an alley. I react instantly and give the man a right hook. I then tear my arm out of his grasp while giving him a round house kick. He unfortunately grabs my foot and throws it down. I didn't let that faze me and threw a variety of punches, but he simply blocked them. I was suddenly grabbed from behind in a full nelson. I lift my feet off the ground and tried to use my weight against my holder. But the woman behind me didn't budge as I kicked at her shins. My back burned from the hold, as I was carried into a limo. As I was thrown onto a seat, I take out my gun and aim it at my attackers, but a voice commanded calmly. "I suggest you put that away Ms. Garrio; we wish not to harm you. Unless you want to try to use your rusty NCIS training on my employees." I turn to see a pale man with brown hair and stern expression. He wore a nice suit, the type Tony would rave about, and held a black umbrella at his side.

I look around the limo and saw that it was nicely furnished, but the windows were blacked out. I look at the 'employees'; they wore black suits and were pretty top-notch. I look back at the man and point my gun at him. The two guards were about to stop me, but the man raises his hand to stop them. "You won't shoot me Ms. Garrio."

"Don't be too sure about that," I bluffed.

The man smirks. "If you wanted to really shoot me or actually threaten me you would pointed the gun at me as soon as I spoke. The way you have the weight of you trigger finger shows that if my guards tried to stop you; your finger would slip safely away from the trigger to keep it from going off. Also, your records that I've researched about you shows that you are extremely humane to others; protective. I also see that you've seen enough of death. Your strained expression of trying to focus shows that it haunts you greatly, then again hyperthymestic disorder does that to a person."

I stare at the man in shock, but kept the gun trained on him. "I don't have much pity for kidnappers, and if you really knew me you would know that I'm not that stable psychologically."

The man chuckles. "True, but that is only in a case when others' lives are in danger, that's why I've taken only you and no one else; like you prefer."

"Who are you?"

"Mycroft Holmes." The man tells me. "Sherlock's older brother."

I froze and stare at him; they looked nothing alike, but the nose and facial shape…I tried to get Sherlock's face out of my head as I continued. "Sorry, but I'm not going to stop pointing this gun at your head until you let me out."

Mycroft sighs. "Very well,"

"What do you want?" I needed to focus as some memories tried to overrule my mind.

Mycroft lifts his umbrella up and examines the ferrule as he says. "I've noticed you've taken up residence in my brother's home so he can solve a case for you, since Scotland Yard and NCIS are searching for you for the murder of Johnathan Shaw. Your NCIS friends are actually helping you with keeping yourself incognito to keep you out of handcuffs. You all have thus far eluded our great agency and have been collecting the answers of this mystery, but it won't be enough. That is why I am offering you a deal." Mycroft stares at me with a gaze similar to a cat. "I have a great influence on Scotland Yard. I can have all the charges cleared and you sent home. I can even get you first-class if you wish Ms. Garrio."

This man was full of surprises and I listen as he tells me:

"All I need you to do is leave this case alone, and go back to America with your friends."

I watch him as sits patiently in front of me. "You want me to leave? Why's that Mr. Holmes?"

"My brother shouldn't have received this case; there are details about it that will place everyone at great risk. I know these assassins are not to be trifled with. If you leave it will all go away—"

"I'm afraid Johnny's murder can't simply 'go away'." I snap. "And if you believe your brother would simply drop this case, you must not really know him that well. I'm not leaving until the men responsible for Johnny's death are brought to justice, and I'll see to that personally. Now stop this limo and let me out please."

Mycroft stoically stares at me and signals his chauffer to stop. The limo slows to stop as he comments. "You know, they say bravery is the kindest word for stupidity."

I smirk as I get out of the limo. "Well, I am pretty stupid, so thanks for the compliment." I slam the door behind me and race down the street.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**


	15. Chapter 15: Interrogation

Gibbs sits in front of a middle-aged man named Jerry Brown who couldn't stop twiddling his thumbs nervously. Brown suddenly asks. "Look, can you tell me why I'm here?"

Gibbs answered coolly. "Sure, just tell me about James Calhourn and you can go."  
"Uhh," The man scratches his ear nervously. "Captain Calhourn was pretty quiet and he only time he talked was when he gives us orders."

Gibbs stares at him for a few more seconds. Jerry wriggles underneath his gaze.

* * *

Tony smirks as he watches through the glass with Sherlock and John. He had just finished interviewing two of the crew members. They told him that the last time they've seen the captain was when they made port. Sherlock was with him, and unfortunately intervened by having the men sign a paper that was said to 'verify' that they cooperated with the interrogation. Tony didn't question what the consulting detective was doing and preceded to interrogate other crew members, but Lestrade already questioned the other two. Tony lets Lestrade know to keep the men there until further notice; in case Gibbs could get anymore out of them.

He tells the others in the room. "Just watch the Gibbs' stare down; guaranteed to wring the truth from anyone."

John watches Gibbs. "He is pretty intimidating."

"No, intimidating is simply the first impression. But once you've really know Gibbs; he is like a commanding shadow: silent and deadly. Ever seen _Dark Knight?_ Well, Gibbs makes Batman look like a probie."

Sherlock snorts at this, while John listens to Tony's description.

* * *

Tony laughs as the sailor soon tells Gibbs some more information:

"He's a good captain; used to be in the military…that's all I know."

Gibbs leaned forward. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"After we made port; we went to a local pub."

"Really, that was a while ago. Do you know anyone who saw him recently?"

Jerry shook his head.

Gibbs leans back in his chair. "Jerry, you hiding something from me?"

Jerry blanches and shakes his head.

"Do you know withholding information from a case is a great offence? I can't even list how many people went to jail for it."

Jerry frowns. "I-I didn't do anything."

"I never said you did; Jerry you waived the right to an attorney because you told me you have nothing to hide. Prove it."

Jerry falters. "Alright, this is about the weapons right?"

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, but remains silent as Jerry continues:

"This is reason you're questioning about Calhourn. Well, he's been trafficking all sorts of stuff with him on our crabbing trades. He would disappear for days with the guns, and then return with a bunch of money and new weapons. Look, I kept quiet because Calhourn threatened to fire me and I need this job. I need to feed my wife and kids. Calhourn would go, just like everyone else, but for him it's for business not pleasure."

Gibbs listens intently and then asks. "Who saw him last?" He had a gut feeling the weapon selling was a cover up for assassinations. Ducky and Sherlock were right; these were professionals.

"Dave Warton. He's good friends with the captain."

"Do you think he's been trafficking weapons as well?"

"No, Dave is always back at port before Calhourn and the reason he disappears for days is to sight-see, he always goes out with his camera to shoot some pictures. But there was this one guy Calhourn brought along; he claimed that it's his stepson, Taylor, that he brought along to teach him about crabbing, but the guy never lifted a finger and left as soon as we made it into port. I think he might be trafficking weapons with Calhourn."

Gibbs gets up and faces the glass to nod to Tony.

Tony turns to Lestrade. "Still have Warton here?"

"Yes, I told him to stay put for further questioning, and he started accusing me of fourth amendment rights. He really doesn't want to be here; let me get him." Lestrade leaves to go get Warton.

* * *

Dave Warton leans against the back of the chair with a frown. "Don't I have a right to an attorney?"

"Sure you do, we also have the right to question you." Tony tells him as he stood behind Gibbs.

Dave Warton glares at them and remains quiet.

Gibbs leans forward. "When did you see James Calhourn?"

Dave thinks for a moment. "I can't really recall, you see when we made into port we celebrated and I had a few drinks. I honestly can't remember much."

Tony walks around to Dave. "Wow Dave; that's a pretty decent alibi. You couldn't remember a thing?"

"I'm afraid not."

Tony stops beside him with a friendly grin and a laugh. "No, I think you do Dave. Because your shipmates told us you only had half a pint that you never finished, and according to them you can easily hold your liquor."

"If you had substantial evidence that would be a great argument." Warton told them.

Gibbs smirked. "Well, we may not have evidence now, but we can get it if you want."

Tony leans on the table. "So why don't you tell us the truth Davey boy?"

"Not until I have a lawyer."

Tony raises his eyebrows. "That's odd; we aren't accusing you of anything."

Gibbs asks the next question. "So why do you need a lawyer Mr. Warton?"

"You feeling guilty about something?" Tony circles Warton. "Worried that you could be connected with illegal weapon smuggling?"

Dave raises his eyebrows and laughs. He gets out his camera and gives it to them. "Look through this; I've been all over London these past few days. That's my alibi."

Gibbs looks through the pictures. Suddenly, the door opens. Gibbs glares at Lestrade as Tony sighed: they were breaking rule #22; never interrupt an interrogation.

Lestrade looked Gibbs apologetically and then scowled at Dave. "Sorry, but we have to let the crew go."

Gibbs stands up and goes over to Lestrade. "Why?"

Lestrade hands Gibbs the phone. "Director Vance has a direct order to release Wartonand his crew mates since they are being detained against their will—"

Gibbs grabbed the phone. "What the hell are you doing Leon?"

"Watch your tone Gibbs; this order is over my head. The president issued it." Vance curtly answered. "And the British government is backing up his decision to keep good relations. The president is comparing this detainment to recent American imprisonment corruptions in foreign countries and the UK doesn't want to rock the boat."

"I'm not going to just let him—"

"You are agent Gibbs; end of discussion."

Gibbs hangs up the phone and glares at Warton who was smiling smugly. "Did I mention, right before you all took me here with your 'probable cause' I took the liberty to call my cousin? You know him as our wonderful president."

John cursed as he watches this and Sherlock muttered sardonically. "God bless America."

* * *

All of the men were leaving the department while NCIS and Scotland Yard agents grimly watched them. Sherlock races up to Dave Warton with a Scotland Yard hat on his head. "Excuse me sir, but I need you to sign this." Sherlock made sure to sound like a sheepish rookie.

Dave raised an eyebrow at this, but took the pen with his left hand to make a check mark. Sherlock suddenly whispers. "AYAK."

Warton stares at him. "What?"

"I said thank you." Sherlock smiled.

Warton rolled his eyes and leaves. He bumps into John, and scowls as he quickly leaves. John apologizes and then hands Sherlock the camera he swiped from Dave.

"Good job John," Sherlock smiles as he looks through the camera, but stops and scowls at someone who walked through the entrance doors: Angelina Garrio.

_Stupid, stupid girl. _Sherlock thought as he walks over to her. "Jenny! Look John it's your wonderful girlfriend; no doubt trying to inappropriately whisk you away." Sherlock glowers at Angelina who smiles and goes over to John. She gives John a stage kiss on the cheek. "I was on my lunch break and decided to see you, since you've said you'll be stuck here doing interrogations."

John stares at her; dumbfounded as he mumbles. "Well, yes, but now isn't the best time."

Gibbs was watching Angelina with a frown on his face, but he didn't seem surprised. DiNozzo was nervous and smiles. "You must be Jenny Shepard; John has told me all about you."

Angelina smile is strained as she holds her hand out to Gibbs and DiNozzo. "You must be agents Gibbs and DiNozzo; nice to meet you."

Tony shakes her hand with a tight grip and edgy grin. "Wow you're unbelievable,"

"Now, now, DiNozzo, don't be flirting with John's girlfriend." Gibbs said as he gives Angelina a stern look. "I'm sorry Ms. Shepard, but now isn't the best times for visits."

John agrees. "He's right, let me take you home dear,"  
Sherlock takes her arm. "No John, you need to help agents Gibbs and DiNozzo; I can take her home."

Everyone seemed surprised by this, but before anyone could argue; Sherlock leads Angelina out toward the side exit. Before they go out, Angelia opens a janitor's closet and pulls Sherlock in.

* * *

As soon as I shut the door Sherlock growls. "For someone so smart; you're incredibly stupid."

I smile at the compliment. "You think I'm smart?"

Sherlock scowls. "Do you realize you can be easily arrested—"

"But I wasn't; I came to help out with the interrogation—"

"The interrogation is over and you're going back to Baker Street—"

I point to the tape recorder in his pocket. "I can recognize the voice of one of the attackers, so I actually can help you."

Sherlock stiffly turns on the recorder and plays through the interrogations. When it came to Dave Warton I exclaim. "That's the man who was holding Molly hostage!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"That explains a lot; he was prepared for the interrogation unlike his shipmates. You said the man who held Molly hostage had the knife in his left hand correct?"

"Yes," I answer.

Sherlock nods. "Then he's most certainly our connection to Calhourn; when he signed the sheet he showed me he was left handed. Also," He goes through the camera. "These photos were taken of the streets of Oxford, also the memory card is missing and some photos were recently deleted."

"So we can arrest him?"

"No, most of evidence comes from you. To arrest Warton we would have to give you up to Scotland Yard. Also, Warton is unfortunately free to walk, since he is related to the President of the United states and our government wishes to keep a good relationship with America. No doubt Mycroft knew about this."

I felt angry that Warton was free to walk because the President was being a protective fool, but I pushed the anger aside and said. "Speaking of Mycroft…" I tell Sherlock about how I was kidnapped and what Mycroft wanted.

Sherlock's brow furrowed as he told me sternly. "That is why you are not to leave the flat unless I give you permission, understand?"

I frown, but replied. "Okay."

Sherlock turns me around and tugs my shirt down. "Your scars didn't reopen did they?"

"Uh, I'm honestly not sure." I tense when he checks my scars.

He then smoothed out my shirt. "I'm no doctor, but John told me as long as your cuts are developing scars and are of the proper color you should be fine." He then opens his phone when he receives a text.

"Thank you Sherlock; you didn't have to—" Before I could finish Sherlock grabs my hand and races me out of the closet and out of the department.

Sherlock checks his phone. "John tells me that agent McGee is at the cab station and trying to find out who had been driving around Calhourn and Warton."

"Wait, what?" I felt confused; I had no idea the attackers were being driven around by taxi. Sherlock quickly tells me how they came to the hospital by cab and how NCIS found out by a security feed. "What's McGee's number?"

I give him the number as he dialed. "Agent McGee, this is Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock tells McGee.

McGee stutters. "Oh—um, hello sir—"

"I heard that you researching for the cab that was escorting our suspects in question."

"Yes sir," McGee answers. "I'm going through the records now—but no one knows where the cab is at this time—"

"Give me the license plate number." Sherlock then repeats the number to me. He then hangs up. "As much as I prefer texting I could tell your friend would be too distracted to text me straight away."

My phone suddenly goes off and I see Trent's number calling me. I ignore the call and send a text to him, Ziva, and Gibbs to let them know I was safe with Sherlock.

I suddenly get another call: from Abby. I answer the phone and was greeted by:

"Angel!"

I wince as Abby shouted at me excitedly. "Are you ok? I was so worried about you."

"I'm fine Abby—"

"I knew Gibbs would find you!"

I smile as Abby babbled to me happily.

A few minutes later I tell her."I got to go Abby, but I call you later—"  
"You better Angelina Shannon. I miss you so much that I'm about a blink away from crying."

"Same here. Love ya Abby."

"Love you too,"

I hang up with my friend reluctantly; I had assassins to catch.

Sherlock grabs my hand and we go over to the sidewalk's edge to hail cabs. Each time we hail a cab we check the license plate and then went farther down the street to search for more. They finally found their cab when it was around twilight and saw the cab driver taking a lunch break in the taxi. We rush over to him and knock on the window. The cab driver shakes his head. "Sorry; on break."

Sherlock shows him a NCIS badge and I saw he stole it from Tony: great. "NCIS," he says in a decent American accent. "We have some questions for you." Sherlock then opens the door.

"What the—I never heard of NCIS, now piss off." The cab driver was about to close his door, but Sherlock held it open.

"Who did you drive yesterday?"

"Tourists."

Sherlock shook his head. "Who did you drive between 3 pm to 5pm?"

"I don't have time for this—"

I step forward. "Please sir, I'm a client of agent DiNozzo. I've hired him to track down two men who killed my friend and attacked me." I made my voice sound pitiful. "Please if you could tell us who you drove yesterday it would really help us." When the man looked like he wasn't going to say anything I bring on the tears. "Please, I can't go another night wondering if the men who've been stalking me would come back." I turn around and lower my shirt to show him the bandages. "Agent DiNozzo told me I was lucky they didn't kill me…but—" I let out a perfectly executed sob.

Sherlock puts an arm around me in foax comfort as he told the cab driver. "You honestly can't tell us anything?"

The man looks at us with a mixture of pity and suspicion. "Are you really and American agent? Because I never heard about NCIS."

Sherlock and I corrected him. "I've,"

The cab driver waves the correction away and says. "Well, you are law enforcement…I drove around two agents who were investigating a murder that had been committed. They paid me for secrecy."

"What did they look like?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I'm not quite sure, because they were both in disguise."

"What were their names?" Sherlock inquired.

"They told me their names were Agent Leroy Gibbs and Agent Sherlock Holmes."

We both stare at the cab driver as his words sunk in. Finally Sherlock says. "Oh they're good."

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**


	16. Chapter 16: Code

We leave the cab driver behind as we walk through the sidewalks in silence. I shivered in the cold air as scenes of today played through my head. I was cold and hungry, so I instantly thought about different times throughout my life I've felt this way.

Sherlock hears my stomach growl and peers at me curiously. I subconsciously wrap my arms around myself. He then grabs my hand and leads me down the street we stop at a restaurant. I smelt good Italian food cooking and felt like I was back at my parents' house. Sherlock pulls me into the restaurant and asks for a table. A cheerful man named Angelo takes us to a table as he chatted. "Always good to see you Mr. Holmes, but where is your boyfriend John?"

I stifle a laugh as Sherlock clenched his jaw in embarrassment, but didn't answer.

Angelo tells me. "You are a beautiful girl, what are you doing with Mr. Holmes eh? Oh I kid, Mr. Holmes is a great man; a God-sent who saved my life!"

I nod in interest at the story of how Sherlock got Angelo off a murder charge, when he was in a different part of town high jacking a car. Sherlock interrupts the story. "As great as this trip down memory lane is; Miss Angelina is in dire need of dinner."

My stomach growled in agreement and I nod sheepishly.

"I can see that; order anything you want. I'll cook it myself to perfection; any friend of Sherlock is a friend of mine." Angelo gets me a menu and I look through it eagerly. I decided to order a classic chicken primavera, but I noticed Sherlock didn't order anything. I watch him and wonder how he could function without a meal. I stop Angelo before he left and asked for a basket of bruschetta. Sherlock watched me and when our order of bruschetta came; I slid the basket to him and ordered: "Eat."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow at this and slid the basket back to me. "No, you need to eat; I need to think."

"Your body runs on nutrition; when was that last time you ate?"

"Yesterday morning."

I shove the basket back to him. "Eat at least one slice," God he was stubborn, I started remembering when I was convincing my littlest sister to eat her vegetables. Sherlock scrunched his nose at me and didn't move to touch the food. I sit forward and tell him. "I have a high metabolism and weak body,"

Sherlock tilts his head in confusion, but listens.

"That means when I'm hungry; I am most likely to faint from malnutrition because my body needs sustenance. Especially since I haven't eaten all day like you. So, eat some food or I won't eat and you'll just have to carry me home."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at me and finally ripped a slice of bruschetta and ate it. I smile at my accomplishment. I start to remember when my grandfather and I would eat bruschetta together...we ate it as a snack multiple times that I could have lost count. When my plate came I wasted no time in eating the delicious pasta and chicken. Sherlock stares into space as he thought, but his eyes would flicker to me now and then when I stopped eating. He would then take another bite of the bruschetta and I would happily continue eating. He then sighs in frustration. "You're incredibly distracting."

I was sipping my soda innocently and ask. "Really?"

"Yes." He answered tersely.

"How?"

Sherlock looks away and doesn't answer.

I shift uncomfortably. "Um…what do you think about the case so far?"

Sherlock returns his attention to me and says. "Warton was obviously a scout to spy on Shaw, since he uses a long distance range camera; a perfect tool to watch your targets. The 'stepson' of Calhourn is obviously works with them. These men are clearly experts who are ready to face NCIS and me, but they aren't real members of the KKK; it's a cover of motive that is meant to send us chasing after people that can't be found easily. They most likely worked for an extremist group in the past with Elias Shaw, but Shaw left the group behind by moving here. They know the dangers and are so willing to face them; strange for assassins whose main goal is to kill their targets discreetly and receive their money. They are masters of technology, chemistry, hiding, and killing. They are experienced and willing to take the risks…but the question that bothers me is why, after they found you, that they still kept you alive? Why kill Johnathan Shaw and his father? You were a witness to their crime, so they pursue you to kill you, but why not kill you when they found you so easily?"

"Because they knew I already sought you out?"

"Then they would have found some way to kill me and you."

"Maybe they just haven't gotten to it yet; they did promise to kill me next time."

Sherlock remained silent as he pondered. I then asked. "Do you feel like you're being played?"

Sherlock looks at me with a muddled expression like I grew two heads. "What?"

"Rule 36: If it feels like you're being played you probably are."

Sherlock stares at her as the words sink in; he was being played…but to what end? Why are these assassins toying with him? Angelina's phone goes off and she looks at it and almost drops it. Her expression looked frightened, but it quickly passes as she gives the phone to Sherlock. Sherlock sees that she had received the anonymous email that read:

_**Enjoying the last supper? Deliver the floppy disk to the motel where Johnny died tomorrow morning and you won't share his fate.**_

The email had a graphic of an orange opening up and five pips flying out of it. Sherlock knew they were being watched and called Angelo over. He grabs the wineglass off his tray and douses himself with it, while saying. "Headless nun,"

Angelo nods happily as Sherlock tells me. "Stay here and do not interfere; I'll be outside looking for the assassins."

Before I could disagree, Angelo grabs Sherlock and starts shouting at him as he heaved him out of the restaurant: "Out of my restaurant you drunk rompipalle!"

Angelo walks up to me and whispers. "Sherlock is in the act now! He'll be able to catch those bad people before they can do bad things."

"I hope you're right," I muttered; not taking my eyes off Sherlock. I watch through the window as Sherlock stumbles through the sidewalks and I realized his method; he was going to find the email sender who was watching us and was going to follow him. "Rule 26," I whisper to myself. "There are two ways to follow someone. 1st way - they never notice you; 2nd way - they _only_ notice you.' So you're trying to get them to notice you." It was dangerous, and I wasn't going to let him face them out there alone. I get up and slam some notes down for the meal and rush after Sherlock; hoping no one would notice me.

Sherlock stumbled around, while discreetly checking the street for the sender; they had to be close to be watching them eat dinner as well as keep an eye on Angelina. He also went to each cab and acted like he was trying to hitch a free ride while searching for any suspicious costumers. There were no people in the taxis except for the drivers. He was about to stagger up an fire escape to scan the rooftops, but stopped when he saw Angelina following. Cursing under his breath, Sherlock goes into the alley and waits for her to walk passed. As soon as she walks over he pulls her into the alley with him. He glares at her in irritation. "Do you not listen?"

He growls in frustration when she answers. "I was worried about you—"

He grabs her hand and pulls her down the alley while telling her. "They can easily shoot you if you're out in the open—"

I pull away from him in frustration. "Will you stop! This isn't the first time I've had people trying to kill me—"

"Well it may be the last time if you continue to repeat idiotic risks—"

"I don't need you to hold my hand and guide me about like I'm a child!"

"Do you think the reason people treat you like a juvenile is because you act like one with your simpering, thoughtless actions, and attitude?"

"Maybe if you treated me like an equal I'll actually take you seriously." I snap back angrily; not the best argument, but I was pissed off.

Sherlock snorts as he shakes his head at me. "Don't think I hold your hand because I'm scared that you can't handle yourself. I hold your hand to keep you in the present; seeing that visual and auditory factors don't work as well to help you out of your reminiscing." He grabs my hand. "Physical touch helps you focus, which what you need to do to help me solve this case. It isn't sentimental Ms. Garrio; it's for logic's sake that you are at full attention. Human compassion and caring are not an advantage for me—"

I suddenly notice a glowing red dot on the side of his head. I gasp: "Shit!" I shove him to the ground and fell on top of him as a shot was fired. I heard glass breaking as the bullets flew above us and into the alley wall and window. Sherlock pushes me off him and covers my head as shards fell. I grab his arm and pull him along as we crawl away from the gunfire. As we went around the corner; the firing ceased. I get out my firearm and checked the rooftops; whoever it was ran for it. I lean against the wall as I called Trent.

Trent answers. "Hey, where the hell did you two go?"

I impatiently tell him. "We've been shot at and I received an email like the one Johnny got." I tell him where we are and hung up. I look over at Sherlock. "You okay?"

Sherlock nods, but I notice he's bleeding. I go over and see some glass was lodged into his cheek. "Hold still,"

Sherlock shakes his head as he grabs a tissue from his pocket. "No, I got it—"

I smack his hand away as I look at the glass. I grab a pair of tweezers from my purse and take it out.

Sherlock grimaced and tried to move away, but I grab his hair to hold him still. I get the glass out and hold the tissue to his face. Sherlock takes the tissue from me and holds it to his face instead while wearing a moody expression on his face. I chuckle at him as he inquires. "Amused that you were almost killed?"

"No, just that even after a life-threating shoot out; you still act like an arse." What was I saying? Perhaps Sherlock's wry humor was rubbing off on me…or his brutal honesty.

Sherlock smirks at me dryly as he gets up and helps me up. I see the slugs and broken glass on the ground and was surprise that I wasn't overwhelmed with memories of NCIS; I look down and see Sherlock was holding onto my hand still and smile. "Thank you Sherlock," I give his hand a squeeze. "You were right; this does help."

Sherlock looks away from my gaze and mumbled. "Well, there is usually a method to my madness."

We waited in awkward silence as we kept an eye out for Trent and the others. "Sherlock, may I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

"Ugh, you know what I mean. How mad do you think Gibbs will be at me?"

Sherlock's brow furrowed as he glanced at me: confused. "Emotional perception is not my specialty."

"Deduction, reason, and logic are though. Don't you like a challenge? Guess."

Sherlock snorted like I've asked him to explain why the sky was blue. "Guessing isn't logical; theories are. To create a theory you need evidence; it's a mistake to theorize before you have evidence. It creates bias." He pauses. "Agent Gibbs' relationship with his agents and you are paternal yet authoritarian, but with you it's a fatherly relationship. His overly protective manner with you shows me he's had a child that he was unable to protect…One from a previous marriage; most likely his first." He looks at me to see if he's correct and I nod; he was right about Gibbs losing his daughter Kelly and first wife Shannon who were killed by Pedro Reynosa. Sherlock continues his deductions. "From his behaviors, military experience, and your constant reference to his 'rules' I can denote that Gibbs is a strict leader, but I can also see he will bend the rules easily when he needs to. He is not a man to be crossed. I can also tell from the interrogation room that he wasn't surprised by your actions and is more concerned about your safety instead of your lack of listening skills. Final result; he'll be aggravated that you've gotten yourself in danger and increase your surveillance."

I sigh. "Rule 18; It's better to ask forgiveness than ask permission."

"Sounds like a rule you live by." Sherlock muttered.

"One of many." I tell him.

"Why make them?"

"Well, a friend of my mom's said that everyone needs a code to live by; I'm actually trying to create my own code."

"What's number #1?"

"Code A: Do whatever you can for family. It's actually a Gibbs' golden rule."

"Any others?"

"Code B: Always carry your purse with you. (It carries a knife and cell.)

Code C: Trust your gut.

Code D: Never lie to Gibbs.

Code E: Listen to Ducky

Code F: Always be grateful.

Code G: Never assume; double check.

Code H: Never aggravate people that you know can kill you easily.

Code I: If you want to intimidate an answer from someone; remain silent and watch. Or lash out with evidence and passion.

Code J: When something isn't working, like tech. or a fellow agent, Gibbs-slap it.

Code K: Coincidences are non-existent

Code L: Never lose your compassion.

Code M: Always acknowledge someone's hard work.

Code N: Always be prepared.

Code O: Never curse when you first meet someone new.

Code P: Watch for details; if there are holes: fill them.

Code Q: It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Apologize when you can.

Code R: Never try to keep a secret from your twin or roommate.

Code S: Sleep when you can.

Code T: Make time.

Code U: Always try to help your friends or you'll hear about it later.

Code V: Never be intimidated.

Code W: Don't be too close to a case or complex situation, or you'll be burned.

Code X: Always let someone know you care; it may be the last time they know.

Code Y: When you're upset; let out or you'll explode.

Code Z: Follow Gibbs' rules."

Sherlock listens with interest. "Code Q explains a lot."

We both laugh at this together as we scan the streets for Trent or any other threats in the shadowy streets of London.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**So I know this is really similar to the _Study in Pink_ pilot with the drunk act, but I honestly love that scene! I hope that I'm doing alright since I've scoured the internet to watch _Sherlock_ while I'm saving up to get the seasons. Sorryz for not posting in a while, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter! ^.^**


	17. Chapter 17: Compromise

Trent rushes into a cab with Gibbs and John, while everyone else crammed into a second cab. John was texting Sherlock quickly and Trent took out his gun so he would be ready. He peers at Gibbs who looked pretty pissed off. Well it was understandable, since Angel put herself at risk, disappeared for a few hours, and is with the one person Gibbs trusted the least. When the taxis stopped; they all got out and scanned the area. Trent sees a light flashing in an alley and knew it was his sister. He rushes over while checking the rooftops and other potential sniper hideouts. When the whole team made it over to Sherlock and Angelina, Gibbs began his tirade:

"When someone tells you to stay put you stay put. Do you understand?" He glared pointedly at me.

I bite my lip remorsefully. "I'm—"

"Don't say you're sorry!" Everyone exclaimed and then gave each other muddled glares that they all said it at the same time.

I squeeze Sherlock's hand as Trent tells me. "You're lucky you weren't killed Angelina! If want to help you need to frickin' help yourself first," Trent looked just as furious as Gibbs.

I look at Sherlock who says. "I can't really argue against that—"

"You don't need to, seeing that you didn't take her back to Baker Street like you should have." Gibbs stepped up to Sherlock. "You said that you were going to keep her safe—then do it!" He barked at Sherlock. "She needs our protection, so you better start guarding her with your life—"

"Oh do shut up—" Sherlock started to say, and I jumped in front of him.

I saw the look on Gibbs' face; like he was about to shove Sherlock into a wall. I knew he wouldn't be able to explode when I was in his way. If looks could kill, Sherlock would have been dead as soon as he spoke because Gibbs was staring him down. I turn to Sherlock. "Enough Sherlock, I should've let Gibbs throw you into the wall—"

"I wish you would," Sherlock muttered challengingly while glowering at Gibbs.

"He's not the only one," Tony muttered. I see McGee and John were looking frightened about this whole ordeal, and Trent and Ziva were trying not to shoot Sherlock. Ducky was simply rolling his eyes in annoyance at the bickering.

"Will you just stop!" I shout at everyone; I was getting just as angry. "Be mad at me! This is my fault; if you all are too busy fighting then how the hell are we going to catch Johnny's killers!" I turn to uncle Jethro. "Yell at me, not him, if he didn't cover me during the shooting I'd be ready to go to a hospital." I turn back to Sherlock. "I'm just going to warn you; if you ever tell him to 'shut up' again I **will** throw you into a wall."

Everyone listened to my rant silently, even Sherlock. McGee finally speaks up. "She's right boss,"

Ducky nods. "If we're ever going to catch these killers we need to work as a team. All of us."

"Rule #15 Gibbs," Ziva commented.

Gibbs looks at his agents and then at Sherlock. "Are you willing to work as a team Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock scrunched his nose distastefully at this, and John cautions him. "Sherlock…"

Sherlock raises a brow at John. "What? Do you want me to team up with an investigation team that can't tie their shoes without their leader?"

Trent growled. "Bite me!"

Sherlock narrows his eyes at this, but Gibbs quickly Gibbs-slapped Trent before they could react while John gives Sherlock a warning glance. Gibbs turns back to Sherlock. "What's your answer detective?"

Sherlock analyzes everyone and peers at John and me. He rolls his eyes to look at the sky and sighed. "Very well Agent Gibbs, I will…try to work with your team. But I have no patience for stupidity and I won't slow down for anyone."

Gibbs smirked dryly. "Good; neither do I."

Tony snorts. "Well this is going to be interesting."

* * *

John, Sherlock, Gibbs and I head back to Baker Street after we collaborated on everything that happened. Tony, Trent, and Ziva were analyzing the scene of the shooting, while McGee and Ducky were analyzing the email at the hotel. As soon as we went inside the flat; Gibbs cell suddenly rang. He answers it and then looks over at me. "Your parents are worried sick about you kid,"

I look at the phone he held out to me with fear; I couldn't do this yet.

Gibbs puts the phone in my hand. I put the phone to my ear and say. "Hello?"

"Angel!" my dad's voice broke through the line. "Thank God, when Trent told me what happened your mother and I were trying to get ahold of you through your phone—"

"I'm okay dad," I tell him.

"The hell you are! I'm getting a ticket to come and get you—"

"Dad, no, you can't do that." I hold the phone tightly to my ear as I listened to my father's nervous chatter.

"Angel, your mother is worried sick about you. This whole family is terrified because you didn't call or anything—"

"Dad I'm sorry, but this case is too complicated for you to simply swoop in and rescue me. Gibbs and Trent are taking good care of me. I'll be okay."

The line was silent until my father said. "Alright, but at least talk to your mother; she's really upset. I miss you bambina."

"I miss you too dad," I then hear my mother's shrill voice:  
"Angelina! Baby are you hurt? Are you with Trent—"

"Trent is with Tony and Ziva mama; he's alright."

"Are you sure?" My mom sounded worried. "What about you, baby please tell me what happened."

I sat on the couch as I tell my mom everything that was happening, except being attacked and knifed. When I finish she said. "Baby…is there anything I can do?"

"You're across an entire ocean mama—"

"I know!" my mom snapped hoarsely. She was really upset. "God, I'm so scared that…"

"I'm going to be fine mama…" I just needed to say the same thing over and over again until I believed it myself.

"I love you baby; you know that."

"I know mama, I love you too." _God mama, don't say it like I'm on my deathbed. _

"Oh Angelina, your sisters and brother miss you. Please talk to them." Her pleading convinced me to talk to them, but I knew it was just going to tear me apart:

"Angel?" A soprano voice cooed. I smile as I recognize my baby sister, Rosalina's, voice.

"Hi Rosie," I listen to the eight year old squeal:

"It is you! Angel I miss you so much!" Rosie suddenly calls. "Allie! Armando! It's Angel."

I hear Armando's rough drawl on the line. "Angel! Are you okay?"

"Yep, I'm pretty good." I lie.

Allie's voice broke through. "Trent said you were in trouble." She sounded scared and tired.

"No, there's just a bit of a mix up here, but don't worry everything's going to be fine."

Rosie tells me. "I really miss you sissy,"

"I miss you all too," I tell them; hoping it wouldn't the last time I'd tell them.

Armando asks. "When are you coming home?"

I stay silent for a second and answer cheerfully. "As soon as possible, and when I get back you all better be ready to spend the weekend with me."

Armando and Rosie happily exclaim, but Allie was silent. Soon Armando and Rosie leave the line. I hear a click and Allie took it off speaker phone. "I'm scared Angel."

"Why are you scared Allie?" I ask; knowing that being the oldest of the three kids she saw through my façade.

"I feel like I'm not going to see you again." Her voice sounded as frail as my emotional state.

I bite my lip until I tasted blood; I needed to keep myself strong. I felt like I wasn't going to see them again either. "Don't think like that, I promised that I will be back home soon."

"Okay Angel; I love you."

"Love you too Allie." I quickly hang up the phone and put it down. I wrap my arms around myself as I tried not to think. Memories of people lying to me like I lied to the kids…I had feeling I wasn't going to make it back home. Gibbs sat down beside me and puts an arm around me. I put my head against the crook of his arm to hide my face from John and Sherlock as a tear escaped.

Gibbs comforted me. "It's okay Angel, shh."

I let out a shaky breath. "Uncle Jethro…is crying a weakness?"

He holds me tightly. "Not for you kid." I silently cry into his jacket.

"I wish I was strong like the rest of you," I whisper to him. "I wasn't able to handle all the deaths…all the danger…I was scared of losing you all."

"I know," he tells me.

"I'm scared that they'll kill me before I can see my family, Abby, and Palmer…or if they kill you or Trent or the others…God what is wrong with me?" I furiously wipe my tears away.

Gibbs puts another arm around me. "You can't disconnect from people Angel; you can't block out the emotions like we do. Letting it all get to you leaves scars. A person can't function in our line of work without disconnecting."

"Rule #10; why can't I follow it?"

"We all have a hard time with that one."

"Yeah…" I sit up and prop my feet up so I was hugging my knees. Gibbs knew that I needed to be alone, so he got up while kissing the top of my head to sit on the stairs outside of the room. I stare at the fireplace; remembering when my dad and I would light it up with firewood and newspapers so we could roast marshmallows. Trent would always burn his to a crisp and dip it in chocolate. John walks in and sits in a chair. He looks at me and asks. "Are you okay?"

I shrug. "I'll live; hopefully."

"I remember telling my sister Harry the same things when I was away. Just trying to reassure her so she wouldn't worry, but hating that you have to lie at all."

I nod in agreement. "I'm just worried that I can't keep my promises to them."

John tells me. "We will find those assassins Angel."

"I know; I'm just hoping they won't find us." I then give him a small smile. "Thanks for understanding me John; you're good at that."

"Living with Sherlock I have to be." John smirked as he joked. He then gets up. "Goodnight Angel."

"Night John," I tell him as he left. I suddenly notice Sherlock was sitting in a chair that I had my back to when I talking with John. He was watching me closely. He then picks up a violin and starts to play a piece that sounded similar to Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_. I close my eyes as I listen to him play the melody. He was pretty good and his playing made me reminisce about my violin classes and concerts with Trent. Trent played the cello and I played violin. For some reason our teacher had us become a duet for talent shows. It was fun to play the melody of piece… I open my eyes when Sherlock stopped playing. He stared at me and then got up and handed me the instrument. I was bewildered as he told me. "Play something."

"…Why?" I inquire.

"It'll take your mind off what's bothering you, or at least help you think about it without sobbing all night." Sherlock waved his hand at me impatiently. "Play."

I stare at the instrument as I raced through vast memories on pieces I played. There was one that fit the situation well. I start to play the melody of _The Scientist _by Coldplay. I played the song for fun one day and I was fortunate to remember every note; now I just had to play it. After the pizzicato, I screeched the strings with the bow a couple times that I stopped playing all together to take a breath. When I restarted the song flowed from the violin with each bow slide. I felt alone as I played, but it was like I was meditating with the music. I was so in sync with it I wasn't sure whether Sherlock was still in the room or not. I soon finished and felt relaxed. I look over at Sherlock whose head was leaning back and his eyes were shut like he was asleep. He finally spoke. "The first time was terrible."

I shake my head. "Tell me something I don't know."

"You improved the second time. I enjoyed some of it, but you need to relax your bowing or your notes would sound the complete opposite of legato."

"You should've become a music critic."

"There would be too much to critique then." He mumbles; eyes still closed. "A decent choice of music."

"Do you like Coldplay?"

"No. I was talking about you," He smirked. "You seemed to actually enjoy yourself."

"I did; thanks for letting me play Sherlock." I get up and put the violin beside his chair. I watch him closely; honestly the guy wouldn't be my type. I liked guys who were kind and funny; not sardonic and aloof. I wondered why I was so drawn to this man; he was irritating to no end and was my polar opposite. He was also the only guy that was able to read me in one glance and gave me a chance to solve Johnny's murder when everyone else tried to keep me on the sidelines for safety. He really knew I needed to be on this case, whether it was for me or him I was grateful for the chances and help he gave me. Sherlock opened his cold eyes and peered at me suspiciously. "Is there something you need Ms. Garrio?"

I look at him and realize this man was like ice and the only thing he was passionate for was a mystery. I saw many similarities between him and Gibbs; focused on the case and callous to anyone in their way…well Gibbs definitely had a heart, but Sherlock was different. "Nothing, just wondering if you want your bed back."

"We've been over this before." He sighs in annoyance.

"Alright," I get on the couch while grabbing a blanket. I shut my eyes tightly as tried to sleep. I shriek when Sherlock picks me up and threw me over his shoulder. At first I was shocked he could carry me to his room so easily, and then I huffed. "Put me down!"

He does; by throwing me onto his bed. As he turns around to leave he tells me. "Go to sleep and stay off of my couch."

As Sherlock left he heard agent Gibbs chuckling at the bottom of the stairs. His brow furrowed that the gruff agent was actually laughing. Sherlock snorted with annoyance and went over to his chair to think, while fighting the urge to tell Gibbs to shut up.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**All rights reserved to songs and artists.**

**p.s. I love reviews; they inspire me...hmm...does this count as begging? Oh well! Hope ya'll like this chapter.**


	18. Chapter 18: Suspect Analysis

Tony was sorting through glass for slugs to bag with Ziva while Trent shot photos. They noticed from the mushroom effect of the slugs that they were hollow points; showing that the sniper want to do as much damage to Angelina and Sherlock as possible.

He asks Ziva: "Excited to work for the great consulting detective Ziva?"

"Do I really need to answer Tony?" Ziva shoots him an annoyed glance.

"What? McCreeper was ecstatic."

Ziva shook her head. "Honestly I'm not looking forward to working with Sherlock Holmes, but John Watson doesn't seem too bad. He's the only ally I've enjoyed working with so far."

"Hmm, boyfriend scouting Ziv-ah?"

"No, To-Ney, I don't 'troll' on the opposite sex like you do."

"'Trolling' is internet harassment Ziva," Trent corrected her. "'Trolling for booty' is what DiNozzo does. Then again, Tony does provocatively irritate and piss off every woman he talks to, unfortunately it isn't on purpose."

"Shut it boy scout." Tony responded. "Just because you weren't able to brutalize your nemesis doesn't mean you have to make up lies." He teased.

Trent glared at Tony seriously and both he and Ziva were surprised when he didn't create a sarcastic come-back and went to check some rooftops.

"Wow, he is pissed off." Tony commented.

Ziva stood up. "Well next time please don't 'piss' him off."

"Calm down den mother, no need to protect the boy scout." He gets up and tries to get his badge. "Let's go ask around about—hey!" he notices his badge wasn't in his pocket. He then checks his jacket pockets and back pockets until he realized it was gone. "My badge is gone."

"Really Tony?"

"Yeah, really."

"Amazing Tony; you manage to lose your badge as well as your dignity at the same time."

"I didn't lose it!"

"So it was stolen; we better alert Scotland Yard—"

"Not funny; I wouldn't lose a badge. Especially when it was in my pocket—" His eyes widen as he realizes something. "The detective!"

"What? Are you saying Sherlock stole it?"

"Exactly!"

"What would he even use it for Tony?"

"I don't know, why would he take Angelina halfway across the city and then to dinner?"

"You can't be serious."

"Oh but I am, something is brewing between those two—"

"They've only known each other for four days—"

"Our little Angelina is growing up—"

"She is not! Just because you think two people going to dinner and sharing a be—" Ziva stops talking; realizing her mistake.

Tony quirks an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're hiding something Ziva David…"

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are; it has something to do with our friend sleeping with a certain detective."

"I never said that—"

"Oh yeah you did, unless 'be—' stands for bench, which makes no sense whatsoever…"

"Tony, I will correct you on your sick theories as long as you promise not to tell anyone. Not even Palmer!"

"I'm a government agent; secret is my middle name. Now spill."

Ziva tells him what happened and Tony listens.

"Oh-ho," he laughed. "You should really tell Trent that story—"

"No! You promised—" Ziva snapped furiously.

"Whoa whoa, calm down my ninja; I won't tell him." He shook his head. "How twisted; a machine of a man falls for a girl of passion—"

"Please don't reference a movie Tony."

"But it's a classic—"

They were interrupted when a wad of paper smacked Tony in the side of the face. "Hey!"

They both look up to see Trent on the fire escape of the building in front of them. He motions them to follow him as he ascended to the roof. When they were all up there they had a perfect view of where Angelina and Sherlock were. They saw the rooftop was deserted, save for a plastic camera lens. Trent picks it up. "Who do we know has a camera and great at scouting?"

"Warton." They all assented. Ziva crouches down where Warton would've been and visualized how he would have reacted. From the inside of the building below her and ally; he fired four shots. First shot was where Angelina said Sherlock was standing in front of the brick wall of the building. From the height of the hit, the sniper aimed for his head. They fired another where Angelina was standing. Two more shots fired at the window above them…strange seeing that the sniper had a clear shot.

"Tony, stand down there and tell me if you can see me." Ziva orders Tony.

Tony groans. "You're kidding." Ziva shoots him an irritated glower and he finally obeys her.

Tony stares up and could only see Trent, but Ziva was hidden in the blind spot of the rooftop. He goes back up and says. "You scare me with your infinite assassin knowledge."

Ziva smiles. "Good," She goes over to the fire escape on the other side and sees the door that lead to the roof. "The sniper picked a perfect spot to shoot due to having two escapes hidden from his targets and the main street."

"But why wouldn't he finish the job if it was so perfect?" Tony inquires dramatically.

Trent wonders. "I don't think they want to kill Sherlock."

Tony raises his eyebrows. "What are you talking about Garrio?"

Trent points over to the target area. "A real sniper wouldn't let his laser linger so long unless…"

"Unless they wanted it to be noticed." Tony finished.

"A warning?" Ziva questioned. "Why?"

"These assassins' minds aren't the usual cliché. I vote on going to Ducky." Trent starts climbing down. "If anyone could get a glimpse of their personas it's him."

As Ziva goes after him she inquires. "Trent, how did you know to look at this building? I thought you were checking them all?"

"Well I calculated the angle of shots fired, accounted for a good sniping nest, and I decided to go to the closest one. Oh and I was roof jumping again." Trent leaps off the fire escape with a laugh at Ziva's expression of maternal disapproval.

Tony laughs also. "Calm down Ziva, let Spider-scout have his fun."

* * *

McGee sat at the computer and was trying to figure out where the email was sent from. Angelina's inbox showed the email had no sender information and he was trying every trick he learned to try to find out everything about the email. The technology was complicated and advanced. He would have a respect for the genius who created it if they weren't killers out to murder his best friend. Tim felt edgy ever since he saw the torture inflicted on Angel; he even ignored a call from Abby so he wouldn't have to tell her about it. He didn't let the others notice his uneasiness; he needed to focus and find out who was attacking Angel. Ducky was looking through some files on Warton and Calhourn. The doctor then goes over to McGee.

"Timothy, is there any reason why you're crushing your coffee cup into oblivion?"

McGee didn't realize that he was gripping his coffee so tightly that the flimsy cup was bending. "Oops,"

"Timothy, I can tell that you aren't the only one who is despaired by this case."

"Well Ducky, Angel is our teammate, friend, she's practically family…"

"I worry that this case will test all of our nerves…especially poor Angelina's." Ducky says sadly.

McGee was wondering if he should ask Ducky a question that has plagued him. "Ducky, why do you think Angel left NCIS?"

Ducky sits down and takes a breath before starting. "Angelina and Trent have been through many traumatic experiences in their young life. Having their cousin Thomas, who they looked up to like an older brother, abruptly die from a drug overdose when they were only beginning high school. And not long after watching their grandfather die before them. Angelina discovering that she and Trent had a biological father who wished to only reconnect with Trent, therefore establishing her self-esteem problems and her constant need to prove herself to others. Growing up with a disorder that has taxed her mind every second of everyday exhausts her will. Joining NCIS was a mistake for her, even though her reasons were moral; to help others while using her genius abilities. Unlike Trent though, as well as us, she can never block off the traumatic memories. She will always remember every John and Jane Doe's face, every moment of fear, and constantly envisioning the death of the ones she loves who she watch die. She lives in the past; she cannot move away from it like we can. Angelina's sympathy and compassion has her create personal connections with victims; it creates her resolve and sensitivity to a case, but also tears herself to pieces. After Kate's death, Angelina's will to keep death from happening made her want to sacrifice herself to danger to protect you all. I feared that her actions were suicidal at one point until I saw her enjoyment of life. I realized she subconsciously appointed herself as a protector for us and others she can save."

McGee listens in shock. "You mean she feels responsible for Kate's death?"

"There is a possibility that she felt she could have done more and the risks she takes to defend shows me she is trying to make up for not being to protect the people she loves. Subconsciously she feels that she must guard others to pay a debt to the ones she couldn't save. After Mike's death, it was the final nail in the coffin for her. She realized she could not save everyone. This realization made her depressed at her failure and want to escape the doom that surrounded her. Like Ziva, she could no longer deal with the death of comrades, but unlike Ziva, she will never escape or block her worst memories or feelings of her trauma. This case is bringing back the despair she desperately tried to escape from, while showing a vulnerable side to her that she never wants anyone to see, and us trying to keep her safe is blocking off her need to protect and serve. Being reduced to the victim is a reenactment of her worst days."

McGee's brow was knotted in anguish at everything Angel has been going through. Whenever they met at the coffee shop to hang out; she always was calm, collected, and happy. She was always cheerful and admitted that she was fine during their missions…next to Abby she was one of the most upbeat women he knew. "Why didn't she tell us Ducky?"

"Because she didn't want to be a victim, she didn't want us to share her troubles, and the mere admittance of her issues would make it harder for her to move away from it." Ducky gets up and sits over at the desk. "The only thing we can do Timothy is to let her know we are always there for her and to let her come to us when she's ready."

Tim nods in agreement and went back to decoding with an intense resolve to help Angel.

* * *

An hour later Tony, Trent, and Ziva walked in. They swapped information. Trent finally asks Ducky. "Can you tell us anything about Calhourn and Warton?"

Ducky nodded. "From everything I've researched about these two assassins, I've realized they are a team to quickly resolve a mission without trying to raise suspicion, hence the assassins' targets deaths being labeled as suicides shows they don't want to leave anything behind that could point to a murder. Calhourn was discharged for going AWOL, while Warton was majoring in photography at a state university. Their careers ended around the same time. Their records show no sign of racial preference or intolerance. Most likely there was a KKK client, but I doubt these murders have anything to do with this. Also, their clean assassinations clash with this new, brash behavior. It's as if they have something to prove to us all. They want to kill the one witness they couldn't catch, but despite being able to reach her they are waiting to kill Angelina. They are purposely creating a challenge for themselves and us. The only question is why?"

Tony responds. "The only way to find out is during the drop-off tomorrow. Gibbs wants us close, but Angelina is to go in alone—"

Trent shook his head. "No way."

"I agree," Ziva established.

"Isn't Gibbs going with her?" McGee asked in exasperation.

"No, he told me Sherlock was." Tony answered as he measured his teammates' expressions. Trent seemed furious, Ziva was confused, Ducky looked concerned, and McGee was shocked.

"Aw come on team, let's have some faith in our new ally." Tony tried to joke. "Let's be like Probie—excited fan girls!"

McGee was about to argue but Trent responds:

"No, Tony's right, we should have some faith in Holmes, but if he gets Angel killed I'll be punching him all the way to America."

"I'll help," Ziva offers wryly.

Tony shrugs his shoulders. "I'll keep Probie from stopping you."

"I don't believe you need to Anthony," Ducky answers with good humor and reassured them. "Angelina will be able to finish this mission even without Mr. Holmes' help, I can assure you she'll be alright."

McGee was smirking at his teammates banter and Ducky's kind reassurance, and goes back to work.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing so far! Please review; helpful criticism is always...well helpful. ^.^**


	19. Chapter 19: The Drop

Sherlock peers at Gibbs who was sitting up in the chair as if he was asleep, but the manner was too similar to being awake. Sherlock sat up and examined Gibbs who murmured with his eyes shut. "You need something Holmes?"

"No, not from you." Sherlock sighed.

"Then go to sleep."

"Why did she leave? Emotional breakdown of course, but what caused it?"

Gibbs opened his eyes and scrutinized Sherlock; knowing he was discussing why Angelina left NCIS. "Maybe you should ask her."

"I doubt she'll tell me. That's why I've asked you."

"Do you really think I'm gonna tell you about that Holmes?"

"Your manner tells me it was a friend. Murdered in the line of duty?"

Gibbs stood up and looked up the stairs without answering; giving Sherlock the answer he needed.

"I see, she was there." Sherlock thought for a moment. "She watched the friend die. She couldn't take any more deaths and she quit."

Gibbs turns to Sherlock and analyzed him coldly.

Sherlock titled his head. "I'm right."

"Yeah, but sometimes you're wrong." Gibbs tells him as he sits back down.

"That's not a rule is it?" Sherlock muttered contemptuously.

"Rule #51." Gibbs answered.

"Congratulations; you managed to drill your code into Angelina's head."

Gibbs proudly smiled. "Good."

Sherlock watches him. "Why are you so close to these agents?"

"Because I work with them." Gibbs sarcastically answers.

"Your sarcasm is too simplistic to be funny agent Gibbs."

"Goodnight, Sher-Lock." Gibbs closes his eyes as he rests his head against the chair.

Sherlock watches. "You're not sleeping."

"Ya think Sherlock?"

* * *

I woke up in the morning and my back ached. "Damn scars." I yawned. I get out of the room to wander into the bathroom when I see John.

"Morning Angel," he greets me like I lived here.

"Mornin' John," I then stop to ask. "Is it okay if I shower? You know, will my scars be alright?"

"Sure, just make sure you don't stretch around too much."

"Is the bathroom free?"

"Help yourself." John tells me.

I climb into the shower and saw some towels and picked out the one I was going to use. I gingerly take off my bandages as I get ready. I was happy to feel the warm water and hissed when my scars stung.

* * *

Sherlock hears the shower running, but sees John eating in the kitchen…Angelina. Sherlock groans in annoyance and John sighs. "What is it now?"

"I need to wash my face."

John snorts and tells him. "Wait till she's done."

"No." Sherlock jumps up and walks up to the bathroom.

"Sherlock! I can't help you if Gibbs kills you."

"Relax John, he's outside talking with agent McGee."

"How do you—oh never mind."

Sherlock opens the door and walks in casually. He hears Angelina freeze and he starts to wash his face, while checking the scratch on his cheek from last night.

"Sherlock?" She snapped.

"Yes." He realizes he should fix his hair.

"Why are you in here?"

"It's my bathroom."

"Um…can you leave so I can—"

"I can't see you so why does it matter? You should really lock the door." Sherlock never understood why John was bothered by it also.

Angelina sighs and says. "Good morning to you too."

Sherlock grins dryly as he responded. "We're going to the motel today."

"You and me?"

"That's what 'we' meant. Are you usually so dense in the mornings?" He dried his face quickly.

There was silence until Angelina turns off the water. "No, just when someone interrupts my bathing. Now leave."

"No." Sherlock started to fix his hair.

"Then pass me the towel!"

Sherlock throws the towel into the shower causing the shower curtain to swish to the side and revealing a naked Angelina in the mirror. Sherlock raised his eyebrows as she shrieked and wrapped the towel around herself.

* * *

I couldn't believe he saw me—AAHHH! I wrap the towel around me tightly as I shriek. "Figlio di puttana!"

"Is that Italian?" he asked sarcastically.

"Out!"

Sherlock turns to me. "Why?"

"You!" I jump out of the shower and hold the towel close to me.

"Yes?"

I couldn't even form the words as I blushed madly in embarrassment. "You. Are. Impossible!"

"Don't worry I'll delete your nudity from my memories if it makes you feel better."

"Oh thanks, too bad I can never do that!" I rush out of the bathroom, but he grabs my shoulder. I smack his hand away and use the other hand to grab the collar of his shirt. Yeah, I was that pissed.

Sherlock looks down at me silently, until he says. "Seeing you naked was not my intention."

I start to calm down and nod in understanding.

"Are you going to let me go?" Sherlock inquires patiently.

John suddenly walks up. "What's going—oh God, Sherlock what did you do!" He pinches the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes from the awkward moment.

"Apologize." I was focused on Sherlock completely and ignored John.

"Why? I don't regret anything." He stares at me and then looks at the ceiling. "You are oblivious when you're angry."

"What makes you say that?"

"Your towel fell off when you grabbed my shirt." Sherlock looks over at John. "John's staring at you by the way."

I froze and see to my horror he was right. I shriek and grab the towel and covered myself while running out of the bathroom and pushing passed a flustered John who was muttering apologies. Sherlock leaves the bathroom and sees she that she ran into his room and slammed the door. He goes downstairs and grabs his violin. John follows him. "Sherlock…what the hell did you do?"

"Nothing. Angelina dropped her towel."

John groans in frustration as Sherlock ignores him.

After getting dressed I go downstairs to see that all my friends were here with Sherlock and John. I smile at them and sat down as Sherlock and Gibbs explain the plan. I felt like I was back at NCIS, and it felt great. I look at John who sees me and gives me a friendly smile, but I could see his ears were red with embarrassment. My eyes flicker to Sherlock and he gives me an irritating wink that I scowl at as I listened to what I needed to do.

Everyone decided I will go deliver the disk with Sherlock. We will enter the motel together, drop off the disk in the bathroom, and then leave together to Sherlock's flat as NCIS watched the motel. Gibbs and Trent would be staking out on nearby roofs, while McGee and John will be at a coffee shop monitoring the street and searching for any cell signal in connection to Angel's phone in case she'll receive any messages. Ziva and Tony will be walking around the street and keeping an eye out for the back of the motel room. I made sure my gun had a full clip and my knife was secured in my boot before leaving with Sherlock.

The trip was silent and focused as we make it to the motel. As we get out of the cab, Sherlock ushers me to the door. We frown when we see the door is slightly open. We walk in and I get out my gun to check the rooms. I tell Sherlock that the rooms were clear and he tells me the closet was empty. I take a breath as I head to the bathroom. "Sherlock—" I was about to tell him to stay and watch my back, but he interrupts.

"Go ahead, I'll stay here."

I give him a quick nod and went into the bathroom: empty. I place the disk on the sink slowly. I look around the bathroom and felt like I was trapped as I tried not to reminisce about every detail I saw. I head toward the door and as soon as I did I hear a crash. I race out of the bathroom quickly.

* * *

Sherlock looks around to see where the killer was. He noticed that they were hiding in the motel, but where? He wasn't going to tell Angelina when the assassin could be listening in. He looks over at the kitchen and sees an orange on the table. He turned around and struck the person stalking him from behind. The man backed away in surprise and threw Sherlock into the wall when he tried to make another strike. The person grabs Sherlock's scarf and pulled it tight around his neck as he went behind him. Sherlock gasped as he was choked by his own scarf. Sherlock felt his arm being wrenched behind his back as he dropped his gun. Sherlock felt his body scream for air as he held his breath to keep from trying to choke out pathetic breaths. _Wait for it…_

* * *

I run into the room I left Sherlock and saw that he was being strangled. I point my gun at the attacker. "Let him go!" I snap irately. I focused on them and prayed my memories wouldn't overrule my mind in this moment.

The attacker shook his head and tightened the scarf around Sherlock's neck.

I knew I got my answer and before the attacker could retaliate I fired a shot. I made sure the bullet went right passed his ear, so the sound would cause disorientation from excessive ringing. I run up to them when the strangler loosened his hold on Sherlock; giving the detective a chance to escape as I closed in.

* * *

Ziva and Tony were down the street as they listened to Gibbs through their ear pieces. "See anything Ziva?" Gibbs' voice scratched through.

"Negative Gibbs, no one is going near the motel room." Ziva answered as she scanned the bustling streets.

"McGee?"

"No cell—wait. A signal just showed up…but it doesn't match Sherlock's or Angel's."

Gibbs looks through a scope at the motel and answers. "Stay close you two; you hear anything you go in there."

Tony answers. "Sure thing boss—" As soon as he said that a sound of a gunshot went off. Tony and Ziva get out their firearms as Ziva says. "A shot fired in the motel!"

* * *

I punched the stranger hard. I instantly recognized who he was. The build of him was exact to the shooter and the torturer. I tackled him to the ground and gave him a few more good hits before pressing the gun against his forehead. "I told you to let him go." I whisper to the attacker. I didn't look away from the man as I stood. I asked Sherlock. "Are you okay?" I heard Sherlock coughing and gasping. "Sherlock!" I needed to hear he was alright.

"Yes," he wheezed. "Fine."

I glower at the man below me and I hear more people race in, but relax when I heard their familiar tread. Tony is beside me with his gun trained on the man as Ziva puts the attacker in cuffs. I lower my gun and go over to Sherlock and tried to get a good look at him to make sure he wasn't injured. He pushed passed me impatiently as he fixes his scarf.

Ziva rips off the man's mask to show a familiar face with a bloody nose and said. "James Calhourn."

"The man who knifed me and shot at me." I added as I glowered at him. "I can't wait for you to meet agent Gibbs, Mr. Calhourn."

"How's the back sweetheart?" Calhourn asked me slyly.

In answer Ziva tightens the cuffs on him painfully. "Perhaps you should spray him Tony?"

"Nah, pepper spray wouldn't be strong enough." Tony answered with a smile. "They're alright boss, we have Calhourn…" He tells Gibbs.

I look hard at the man…wondering if it was him who strangled Johnny…I notice Sherlock was watching me closely and I met his gaze. "You sure you're alright?" I ask him again.

Sherlock nodded pensively. "Yes; just wondering whether you are."

I smile sardonically and shake my head. "Ask me later."

As we walk outside I froze when I saw a Scotland Yard car. I see McGee, John, Trent, and Gibbs talking to Lestrade and Donovan. Trent looked pissed and snapped something at the agents as Gibbs gave him a glare to calm him down. Gibbs and Lestrade were talking and I could tell that it was serious. McGee looks at me nervously as John peers at us and the agents.

"Uh oh, this is bad." Tony muttered to me.

The Scotland Yard agents glare at me and start approaching; I was in trouble.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**Haha! I love writing about awkward moments! Angel curses in Italian when she's pissed off and well...wouldn't you be too? :) Sorry for not updating for a while; writers block. :p It sucks and I'm afraid the next update will be late due to me starting school. :P But I'll try my best. Yes! NCIS and Sherlock caught Calhourn...aw Scotland Yard showed up. **

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing so far! Please review; helpful criticism is always...well helpful. ^.^**


	20. Chapter 20: Confession

Donovan and Lestrade approach me and Sherlock steps in front of me. "Detective Inspector," he greets.

"Sherlock." Lestrade nods and peers passed him to me. "Would you like to explain why you've been hiding a suspect?"

"Well Detective Inspector, Angelina Garrio would count as a victim, not a suspect."

"She ran from the scene of the crime and has been dodging the police!" Donovan snapped. "I should've known you'd hide her from—"

"If you want to say something; say it to my face instead of talking about me like I'm nonexistent 'Sally'." I said, while Gibbs gives me a glance warning me to shut up. I continue my glare-down with Donovan.

"Either way you're under arrest for the murder of Johnathan Calhourn and for resisting arrest." Lestrade tells me as he puts me in cuffs.

I hear Trent exclaim. "No, she's a victim—Calhourn in the one you want!"

I could tell he was going to lose his temper. "Calm down Trent."

"The hell I will!"

Gibbs interrupts. "Let's discuss this after the interrogation. I will be interrogating Calhourn." Ziva and Trent shove him into the car.

"Fine, but she's riding with Sergeant Donovan." Lestrade motions to me.

"One of my agents will go with you." Gibbs answers.

"That's not ness—" Donovan began, but Gibbs tells her:

"One of my agents will stay with her, Sargent Donovan. McGee."

Tim walks up to me as Lestrade nods in agreement. "Alright."

I was placed into the car and McGee slides in next to me. I peer out the window at John and Sherlock. John looked worry, and Sherlock just…stared at me. I smile at them and mouthed: "Thank you."

As we drove off I take a breath and lean against the seat. We did it. We have Calhourn—Gibbs will break him… and they would get Warton and the case would be tied up. But I hope my arrest would be sorted out. McGee gives my wrist a comforting squeeze. I bump him with my shoulder playfully and put my head on his shoulder. Donovan's voice clipped. "Sit up."

I sigh and do what she says. This was going to be a long trip.

* * *

Sherlock sits in the second police cab with John, agent Dinozzo, and Gibbs (he sat upfront), since Agents David and Garrio were escorting Calhourn with Lestrade. Sherlock felt impatient as he groans to the driver. "Drive faster!"

John chastises. "Seriously Sherlock?"

"Oh sorry," Sherlock sarcastically snips. "Drive faster _please_."

John tells him. "She'll be fine."  
"Well, I suppose your reassurance makes it all better John," Sherlock dryly answered.

John snorts in annoyance as Tony pipes in with a smile. "Worried detective Holmes?"

Sherlock shoots Tony a glare. "No."

"Well, your tone of voice is kinda filled with anxiety." Tony pointed out cheerfully.

Sherlock grinds his teeth. Why did the agent he disliked the most had to ride with him?

Tony turns to John, who sat next to him, "Does he usually get this edgy?"

"Well—" John was about to say, but he was cut off by Sherlock.

"John!"

The two men look over at Sherlock with raised eyebrows and Sherlock sulkily glowered at them.

Tony laughs. "I'll take that as a 'no'." John chuckles with him. Sherlock looks over at Gibbs who wore the usual impassive expression. Gibbs looks into the rearview mirror and Sherlock sees that they were both worried, but neither of them was willing to admit that weakness.

* * *

I was escorted into Scotland Yard with everyone else and Calhourn was taken to the interrogation room. I watch him go with envy; wanting to give everything to be there. I see my friends and Sherlock approach me. I also see Ducky get up from an office chair and race up to me as I give him a smile. Lestrade and Donovan had their arms folded. Lestrade saw Gibbs's expression and said. "I'm sorry; Angelina Garrio is still a suspect."

"She's also a witness." Gibbs tells him, while keeping his eyes on me.

Donovan shook her head. "She had her chance to come to us, but she ran. Why would someone run? When they're guilty."

"Or being chased." Trent answered, while masking his frustration.

Donovan shook her head once more as Lestrade answered. "Sorry," He grabs my arm, but Sherlock speaks up. "Detective Inspector, she's innocent."

Lestrade stops and listens as Donovan scoffs. "Detective Inspector, you can't be serious—"

Sherlock interrupts. "No, he's being smart." He continues. "She is a prime witness for this crime Lestrade; every detail she has told me relates to the case and points to Calhourn." He then shoves her phone into his hand. "Read that email and tell me why a murderer would threaten herself, get herself tortured, shot at, and do I really need to continue?" He pauses and continues. "If agent Gibbs can get a confession from Calhourn on the murder, will you let her off the charges?"

Lestrade thinks for a moment and looks over at me. I return his gaze steadily. "You were tortured?"

I nod as Ducky answered. "The attacker was left handed and carved three K's into her back with a surgical scalpel."

"The evidence is on my back." I tell Lestrade earnestly. "I know this looks bad, but I did not murder Johnny."

Lestrade watches me and takes the cuffs off me. "Alright, but you're staying here. Agent Gibbs, Calhourn should be ready for his interrogation."

I grin and say. "Thank you." I follow Gibbs while grabbing Sherlock's hand and dragged him along.

* * *

Donovan gaps. "You're letting her go?"

"No, she'll stay here until Calhourn is interrogated."

"She's a suspect—"

"Yes she is." Lestrade answered.

"Then why—"

"She didn't call Shaw 'Johnathan'." Lestrade answered simply. "Also, if Sherlock is willing to vouch her; well, let's not question it." He had a small smile as he watches the ex-agent and detective.

* * *

Gibbs walks in as Calhourn looks around the room casually. Gibbs sits down and scrutinizes Calhourn as he glared back. Calhourn chuckles. "You got me; I was in the motel lifting some stuff to sell."

Gibbs starts to get out the pictures of Johnny and shows them to him. "Recognize your handy work?"

Calhourn raised his eyebrows. "Maybe if you show this to that redhead she'll remember who did it? Or is she too afraid to step away from the glass and walk in here?"

* * *

I take in a sharp breath and slowly let it out. I stood in the interrogation room with everyone; even John and Sherlock. Trent stands beside me and puts a protective arm around me. I put an arm around him, but continued to watch. I was mentally going through the motions as the familiarity mixed with the anxiety. This was so similar and so different to the times we watched the master at work. The fun and child-like curiosity was momentarily gone. Tony and Ducky were silent, Ziva and McGee were looking at me instead of Gibbs, and John and Sherlock were here.

* * *

Gibbs stands up suddenly with the folder. Calhourn's left hand twitched in surprise as Gibbs walks up behind him and then slams a photo of Angel's back in front of him. "You recognize this?"

"I recognize the letters." Calhourn answered in a deadpan voice. "Maybe you should ask the K-K-K?"

Gibbs growled quietly. "We both know it's your cover up. So stop hiding."

Calhourn smiles and leans over the table to look at the glass. "I'm not the one hiding."

* * *

I knew that smile was for me and I bit my lip as I glared through at him. I wanted to shoot him, no, I wanted to strangle him for what he did…I blink out the scenes…what he did to Johnny.

* * *

Calhourn looks over at Gibbs with the same smile. "Want to know a secret? I was really thinking about letting that scalpel slip on that skinny little neck of hers…"

Gibbs gives a small, sardonic laugh. He grabs something from his pocket and stabs onto the picture of Angel's back. Calhourn stops smiling when he sees the scalpel and stares up at Gibbs gravely.

Gibbs leans over. "If you're done; I would like to ask you some questions."

Calhourn clenched his jaw at first, but then got up the courage to smirk. "The only answer you're getting is how I managed to cut up your little ex-agent." He looks up at where I was again and laughed. "Hey, how does it feel to still be alive? If you ask me, you're a lucky bitch—"

Gibbs wrenched Calhourn to his feet and turned him around, so he was no longer facing the glass. "You are done talking with her. You deal with me now!" His voice was harsh and we all knew Calhourn was in for it.

Calhourn let out a nervous laugh. "Hey now, no need to be hasty—"

"Did you strangle and poison Johnathan Shaw?" Gibbs questioned.

Calhourn doesn't answer.

Gibbs lets go of his shirt and grabs three pictures from the folder and shoved them into Calhourn's hands. "Do you remember the men you murdered?"

Calhourn looks through the photos of Johnathan Shaw, Elias Shaw, and Johnathan's father with a calm expression. "It's a little fuzzy…maybe you should've used a better lens."

Gibbs glares at Calhourn and goes toward the door.

"Wait, we're done?" Calhourn asked; confused.

Gibbs turned around. "Nope."

"Why are you leaving?"

"To let the press know about an American assassin in their city. I bet it'll sell like crazy."

Calhourn turned pale. "You're bluffing old man."

Gibbs looks over at Calhourn. "Scared of your employer finding out? That's too bad."

He opens the door when Calhourn exclaims. "No!"

Gibbs turns toward him. "Yeah?"

Calhourn sits down as he glowered at Gibbs. "Shut the door and I'll give my confession if you promise none of this will be leaked into the press."

"You're that worried?" Gibbs inquired.

"Let's just say Warton and I were given strict instructions on what not to do." Calhourn replied darkly. "The public cannot know about this…"

"What else?"

Calhourn exhaled. "I killed the Shaws, while Warton staked out their whereabouts."

"And the extra crew member?"

"Stowaway paying me top dollar to escape the police." Calhourn watches Gibbs. "I'm not giving you the name of my employer, so just forget it."

Gibbs stared at Calhourn to continue and the man sighs and rubs his face

"Warton also shot off at the girl and Sherlock. I killed Officer Smith. Our employer's ideas; he wasn't happy to find out we had a witness. He wanted us to tease you all; he likes 'watching you all dance'."

* * *

Sherlock stands up straighter as his eyes flashed in recognition.

* * *

Gibbs leans over the table. "You killed Johnathan Shaw?"

"Yes."

"Elias Shaw—"

"Yeah, I killed them all!" Calhourn snapped irately.

"We got him." Lestrade says, I didn't even notice him come in, but I could see that Gibbs wasn't convinced. I look over at Sherlock who also seemed as muddled as I was.

Gibbs stared at him for a moment and finally leaves. "I'll be back—"

"I confessed!" Calhourn scoffed.

Gibbs gives him a cold stare. "Yeah, doesn't mean you did everything, but don't worry; I'm making sure your ass is thrown into one of our worst prisons." He leaves Calhourn who looked worried for moment, but leaned back in his chair as a stoic mask covered his features.

I race out of the room with everyone. Gibbs stood in the hallway.

Tony was the first to speak. "He confessed pretty quickly."

Lestrade answers. "He still confessed to the crimes; we have all the evidence to put him into a nice jail cell."

Gibbs peered at Lestrade, but doesn't say anything.

Trent notices. "You got a gut feeling?"

Gibbs nods. "This is too easy; what do you think Duck?"

Ducky glances at the interrogation room. "So far these assassin's actions are erratic, but they do want to be recognized for their crimes by us. Whoever their employer is has Calhourn both loyal and terrified."

"He could be telling us what his employer want us to hear." McGee adds.

Ziva nods. "Yes, he was adamant to take all the blame. He was also trying to push you over the edge Gibbs."

Gibbs looks over at Sherlock. "Any ideas detective?"

Sherlock smirks. "Calhourn is a corporal assassin, he is also left handed if you noticed how much he used it. Agent David is right; he was testing your limits. He's smart, but whoever his employer is…he aims not to disappoint. He was lying about strangling Shaw."

"How can you deduce that?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock tried not to roll his eyes. "Why waste time to go in through the front to make sure the job was done? His hands are also spotless. Also, with his shoulder mass he wouldn't be able to fit through the window."

"So it was Warton?" John concluded.

"No. Also, when you asked him about the stowaway he was quick to distract you by discussing his employer. I doubt an assassin needs extra money to carry a extra on his boat. Most likely, this extra man is dead, a chemist perhaps that the assassins used to create the poison to kill Shaw… and check what happened to him. He's probably hidden away like Smith was when his usefulness was done with. Calhourn and Warton aren't KKK members, they're just clever. It's precisely why you shouldn't believe what he's telling you."

I speak up. "What are you saying?"

Sherlock gazes at me. "Calhourn was involved in Shaw's murder Angelina, as well as the others, but I doubt he was the strangler."

"After being strangled by him, I would think he would be the lead suspect." I answer tightly; worried that the one who drowned Johnny was still out there. I wasn't worried about Warton. I will see to it that he's brought down.

Sherlock's cold eyes freeze me. "Prime suspect, but not the lead murderer."

Trent was about to say something when we see agent Donovan rush up to us. "Detective inspector, Agent Gibbs, we need you downstairs." I never saw Donovan so flustered and from Lestrade's expression I saw I was right.

We race downstairs as Donovan leads us to a computer screen. Lestrade sits at the computer and we see someone on the monitor. "Detective Lestrade? Agent Gibbs?" a man asks; I could tell he was in a helicopter.

"Yes." Gibbs answered as he leaned over to face the monitor.

"We did what you asked and kept an eye out for the _Lone Star._" The man clears his throat. "We just got a distress call a few hours ago from a shrimp boat and we headed over to the coordinates. The _Lone Star_ was crashed into some rocks." The man moves the camera over and we suddenly see a grey ocean and the remains of a boat on some jagged rocks. The camera moves back to the man's face. "We found no survivors, only charred remains of two crew members when the engine exploded at some point when they collided with the rocks."

We stare at the monitor as Lestrade thanked the man and asked him to keep him posted. I glare at the monitor and kept seeing Warton…I wanted him brought in so badly…_Calm down, this is no time for vengeance…_I thought to myself.

Lestrade gets up and turns to me. "Well, Angelina, since we have a confession it looks like you've been proven innocent of Shaw's murder." He gives me a sad smile. "Sorry that this had to happen."

I give him a thankful smile. "I'm just glad we have Calhourn—"

Before I can finished the lights flashed out. I blink in shock at how dark it was until Sherlock and Trent got out their cellphones for light. Lestrade was confused as told everyone to remain calm, and a minute later the lights were on. Gibbs and Sherlock were scrutinizing the ceiling as Tony inquired. "What was that?"

"A power outage." My brother dryly replied as I elbowed him.

A Scotland Yard agent runs up to Lestrade. "Detective Inspector! The interrogation room was broken into—"

"Calhourn escaped!" John exclaimed.

Lestrade was ordering for a perimeter search when the man gasped. "No! He's—he's dead."

We stare at the agent in shock when Gibbs snaps. "McGee, DiNozzio; stay with Angel and Ducky!"

I watch them run upstairs as I hold onto McGee's arm for comfort while Tony cast an eye over the room carefully.

Ducky sighs. "I'm afraid that that power outage was no accident."

"Reminds me of…" Tony mumbled.

"A movie?" I ask with a smirk.

Tony simply smirks back. "Yeah, you could say that."

* * *

Trent follows Gibbs and Ziva with his firearm as everyone else trailed behind them. They saw the handle to the interrogation room was blown off and that's when they saw Calhourn. Gibbs walked in and cursed as Ziva scanned the room quietly. Trent sees the scalpel from the table was stabbed into Calhourn's throat multiple times and the wounds were still bleeding. Trent felt bile in his throat. "They had to be here before the blackout—"

Sherlock deprecatingly interrupts. "How else would they be able to get in so quickly?"

Trent glared at the detective. "I mean, they killed Calhourn before the power went out; how else would he be dead by the time we got up here?"

John bends over the body. "He's right, Calhourn would still be alive if it was done during the blackout."

The room was silent as they stared at the corpse. Sherlock muttered. "Interesting."

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**DA-DA-DAAAH! Cliffhangers! I know people will hate me for this. :3 I hope ya'll like it. Thank you all the reviews! Also, if you have any criticisms about this chapter just let me know; I want to make this story awesome. This isn't the end...there a few chapeters. Updating will take longer than expected. **


	21. Chapter 21: On your six

Trent walks downstairs to get Ducky and explains the situation to Angel. He saw her blink and looked distant, but it wasn't anger which he expected. She looked sad. "Alright, do you guys need any help examining the body?"

Trent gave his sister a small smile. "Yeah, come on." He leads his team upstairs and kept looking at his sister who was already pulling on latex gloves. He smirks at her as he walks into the crime scene; some things never change.

* * *

I saw the blood soak into the carpet and Calhourn's shirt. Calhourn's mouth was partially open and his eyes wide. I stared at the body, and then the room. The killer shot the door handle…wait they would have heard the shot…they probably used a silencer. I noticed Ziva was already taking some photos as Ducky and John examined the body while telling Lestrade, Gibbs, and Holmes how he was killed. I peeked into the hallway to see McGee and Tony questioning the Scotland Yard agent with Sergeant Donovan, whom Tony tried to flirt with but was quickly shot down mercilessly.

I looked back down at Calhourn as I stared at the slashes. Why didn't we hear anything? Why didn't anyone notice? I saw that the scalpel was lodged into his throat…just like when the knife was stuck in Mike's chest…The memories seeped over me slowly, but powerfully like I was being put to sleep. _No! Not again! Not again!_

* * *

I was sitting in Gibbs's extra room and sketching out a memory of Kate sketching at her desk. Granted, I was never as good as she was; she was a master of shading, while I was better with line. I suddenly hear the door open. I look out the window to see Mike walking outside in the rain. I had gut-feeling that I should follow. I grab my gun and placed it in its holster as I went after him. The rain came down hard and I couldn't see Mike anymore; like some intense game of hide and seek. As the tape of my childhood played out at the back of my head I see two figures in the street. Mike! He was talking to someone…I felt myself tense when I heard Mike's words: "Ain't you smart enough to get out of the rain?" I suddenly see who the other man is and get out my gun. "Me neither, JONAS... My name is Mike Franks. I figure I got one more fight left inside me. You want it?" Mike asked him gruffly.

Before I lifted my gun they collided into a fight. Mike's gun was lifted into the air and I felt everything flashing inside my head. I froze and was spinning through memories of Kate, Jenny, Cassidy…Thomas, Grandpa, too many gunshots by Ari…no Paloma…I start from my memories when I heard Mike's yell. I felt cold fear spike through me when I saw Mike on the ground and Cobb was gone. _No…_ I run up to Mike and see the knife sticking out of his chest as he breathed his last breaths. "Mike." I whispered as I held his hand. Gibbs suddenly runs over and kneels down beside him; pain all over his face as he held onto his mentor and friend. I stand and look around for Cobb. I felt everything crashing around me…wait it was just the rain. I realized that my worst nightmare came true…I fazed out during a mission…and it cost Mike his life. I cover my eyes and bit my cheek until I tasted bitter blood.

* * *

I gasp when I was brought out of it…everyone was staring at me. I peer at my friends' worried expressions, and I froze when I saw Gibbs. "I'm sorry…I need to…" I rush out the room. I stand out in the hallway and covered my face as I tried not to let this get to me. Too late, no one knew what happened that night, except one person. Mike's death, my mistake, was the true reason I left NCIS. I couldn't let my disorder cost anyone else's life. Never again. Leon agreed with my resignation; he understood and was the only one I told about what happened. Mike was my friend; Uncle Jethro's Gibbs. I could have saved him. He was right there! I was there! Just like with everyone else. I push away from the wall and kicked it like a child. I suddenly see someone standing beside me. Sherlock was watching me closely. I stare back at him as he asked. "So that's what happened."

"What?"

"Your resignation. You resigned because of your disorder. You knew you couldn't control it anymore—" He explained calmly as I felt my emotions erupt.

"Yeah Sherlock," I snapped, but my voice was a whisper. "I quit because of this damn disorder. Congratulations you solved the mystery. I fazed out when a friend was in danger, and that friend died! I had the gun, I saw what happened, and…" I stopped as I turned away from him and hugged myself as I breathed slowly to calm myself down. I was too emotional for my own good: weak.

Sherlock watched her. She gave him the answer he hypothesized; he was right. Why wasn't he pleased at finding the answer? He stepped up so he could see her face; she was staring at the wall like she was trying not to abuse it as she clenched and unclenched her hands.

"You never told anyone." He answered.

I nod as I bit my lip. "If I did…"

Sherlock pulled me away so we were far from the interrogation room. "They wouldn't hate you." He tells me. "It was not your fault."

I looked up at him, but quickly looked away. "Thanks."

"Thanks?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

I snort a laugh. "Yeah; thanks for trying to make me feel better." My tone was grateful as I try to seem casual.

"I was not trying to make you feel better; I was simply stating a fact."

"Without any real evidence? Didn't you say 'To create a theory you need evidence; it's a mistake to theorize before you have evidence. It creates bias.'" I recite his words back to him while copying his dialect and tone.

Sherlock starts laughing at me and I smirk at him and start laughing with him; happy to get my mind off of what just happened.

"How touching." A voice says. Sherlock and I recognize the voice as we turn toward its source. Mycroft stood before us with his umbrella and charmed grin; analyzing us closely. I glower at him and say. "So we meet again Mr. Holmes."

"Hopefully for the last time, I heard you caught the man responsible for the Shaws' murders."

"Yes, he's dead." I replied sardonically.

"Caught is caught, so now I suppose you'll be going back to the states?"

"Why so interested in her departure, dear brother?" Sherlock asked while scrutinizing him.

Mycroft smirked. "Let's just say a lot has happened since she showed up."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Why not?" Mycroft walks off as Sherlock follows.

I watch them and then go back into the interrogation room.

Mycroft stares out a window as Sherlock stands next to him. "Care to tell me why you're nosing your way into my case? And for God's sakes, don't say it's brotherly sentiment."

Mycroft sighs. "I am trying to make sure you won't make a fool of yourself."

"I'm making a fool of myself? I don't kidnap people to cut deals."

Mycorft rolls his eyes. "Do you even know why I tried?"

"No, but I'm pretty sure you're going to tell me some elaborate lie you've just thought of." Sherlock snipped.

"Sherlock, drop the case."

"No."

"It's over, Sherlock." Mycroft tells him. "I've sent a message to Director Vance; he'll order his team to come home—"

"The game isn't over—"

"Your murderer is dead. Isn't there a morbid saying about 'beating a dead horse'?"

"You ought to know, you dated one." Sherlock muttered.

Mycroft gives him a seething look. "Grow up! You have no idea what you've been dealing with Sherlock; how dangerous these men were. I'll just tell you that what you were playing at was not a game. You all were lucky to even survive."

Sherlock sneers. "Really? Well I know Angelina would beg to differ—by the way, _thanks_ for convincing Scotland Yard to send Warton home—"

Mycroft frowned. "The President of the United States—"

"Oh since when did you care what he demands of foreign policy?" Sherlock sneered.

Mycroft sighed in frustration. "Certain people agreed that NCIS should be sent home; the case will be given to Scotland Yard—"

"Are you trying to let the killer get away?" Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft swung his umbrella casually. "No, I'm trying to keep the homicide percentage low…can you assure me that they'll make it back to America alive if they continue to investigate? You and I both know who is really behind this."

Sherlock remains silent. "I won't leave this case…but I can convince NCIS to; I doubt agent Gibbs would listen to his Director about leaving a case."

"You'll do anything to solve a case." Mycroft muttered.

Sherlock doesn't answer as he leaves for the interrogation room.

* * *

We all walk down into the tube in tense silence. I see Gibbs was pissed off, and the others weren't happy either. I would be too…Vance ordering them to leave a case to Scotland Yard was a slap in the face. Luckily, Sherlock managed to convince us that there was really nothing else to be done…strange, but he was right. Even though I wasn't satisfied with how this case ended, I was happy to finally go home. I see a coffee vender and get some coffee for everyone with a serene smile; just like old times. I would always deliver the coffee to my team; it became a tradition for me when I was at NCIS.

Ducky joins me and helps me carry the coffee to our team and the others. I hand Gibbs a coffee with a small smile. Gibbs manages to crack a smirk as he takes the cup gladly. I hand some more around to John and Sherlock. John thanks me cheerfully and Sherlock nods. We didn't say much as we waited for a train to take us to the hotel so we could pack. Finally, Ducky broke the silence with one of his many anecdotes and historical facts. I grin as I take Trent's empty cup and mine to throw away. It was difficult to get through the crowd to a trash bin. Soon, I made it to the edge near the tracks. I threw away the cups and looked back at my friends who were listening to Ducky. I stifle a laugh; it was just like old times.

I stood at the edge of people along the track. I didn't enjoy crowds and felt nervous as people crowded behind me. It was honestly my first time in an underground subway—tube. Sherlock and the others were still behind me chatting as I look back at the drainage pits along the track. I heard the screeching of an oncoming train. Hands suddenly push onto my back and I was shoved: hard. I screamed as I tumbled onto the track. My head bashed onto the rail and everything went black…

* * *

Ducky was discussing one of his many stories of London to everyone; Sherlock barely listened to their prattle and saw agent Gibbs was the same way. The old marine drank his coffee and looked distant, yet he seemed very much a part of the conversation. Perhaps he and the marine had more in common than he thought. Sherlock looked around for Angelina who seemed to have gone with the flow of the crowds. Sherlock saw her at the edge of the track and made his way over to her. He suddenly sees a man snaking his way through the throngs of people; straight toward her. Sherlock tried to rush through as he barked: "Angelina!" she doesn't notice the man approaching her from behind.

Sherlock felt like everything, time itself, slowed as he heard the train. He waded through the crowds, and saw the man shove Angelina onto the tracks. Her scream ripped through the hundreds of voices in the tube. Sherlock shoved through and caught a glimpse of her on the track; eyes shut and mouth agape in unconsciousness. He tried to get onto the track, but people held him back as he yelled. "Angelina!" The girl soon started to wake, but Sherlock heard the train approach.

* * *

I wearily opened my eyes as my skull throbbed. I lifted my head as much as I could and heard ringing, yells, and terrible shrieks—wait that's the sound of metal. My heart stopped as I saw the train race toward me.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**Haha! This scene was fun to write. I love cliff hangers. Poor Angelina can never catch a break. I hope you guys like it. Please review and criticize, and thanks for reading.**


	22. Chapter 22: Killer

She was awake! Angelia was blinking her eyes as she was weakly lifting her head up to gape at the massive object racing toward her. Sherlock yelled at her. "Move!" he was leaning over the edge and was launched back. He watched as the train slid in front of him and came to a halt as its metallic screeches echoed in his ears. Sherlock knew what had happened: she was dead. He sees the man walking through the people and toward the escalator. Holmes felt adrenaline and rage course through him as he jumped up and pursued him.

* * *

Gibbs saw what happened and dropped his coffee quickly. He runs and shoves people away and felt his heart stop as he saw the train race through and slowly glide to a stop. He then saw Holmes jump up and race toward the escalators. Gibbs stood there for a moment; watching his horrified reflection on the train.

Sherlock raced after the man as he shoved people out of his way until he was above ground. He saw the man run on ahead of him. On the sidewalks, Sherlock took out his gun and fired a shot in the air to clear the way. Pedestrians scattered out of his way; giving him room to catch the killer. The man was fast, but he was faster. Holmes tackled him and shoved his gun against the man's throat. "Go ahead," he snarled. "Give me a reason I beg of you."

The man stares at him in horror and then nervously laughs. "You had me for a second; I actually thought you were angry for a moment about that girl—"

Sherlock buried the barrel deeper into his neck causing the man to stop talking. "You're asthmatic; I can see from your inhaler in your pocket as well as your shallow wheezing. You aren't used to this sort of work seeing by your complexion…but people do anything for money. So who's your contractor? Who hired you?" He knew that this man was in on Warton and Calhourn's business, why else would he kill Angelina? He saw the discoloration of skin and smelt garlic…he was the chemist. His fingers were those of typer…computer expert. He was alive…unlike his partners. Most likely Calhourn's murderer. He tried to focus on not beating the man to a pulp as he listened.

"Can't say—but I have a question how does it feel to watch your client die? Did you feel anything? Anger? Despair? Nothing?" the man wheezed out.

Sherlock wrapped his fingers around the man's throat as he glared down at him coldly. "Your trachea is beginning to close want me to help it collapse?" he notices something in his ear and yanks it out; it was a listening device, and he puts it to his ear: white noise and static. He looks back at the man and snaps: "Who are you working for!"

"James Calhourn—"

"Is dead, along with your partner Warton, who you most likely killed. Why else are you still alive? Now stop lying or I'll pull the trigger." Sherlock shot a bullet into the air.

"God, you really are mad—" The man coughed. Sherlock grabbed the inhaler and shoved it into the man's mouth. The man inhales and laughs. "Can't wait for your buddies to get here—"

"I'm keeping you alive; not comfortable. You are a computer expert that designed the untraceable email and graphics, since Warton and Calhourn never had any sort of training in computer technology." Sherlock remembered reading the files on Warton and Calhourn; clues that lead him to believe the murderer of Calhourn was probably a third member of the assassin team. He should have expected the third member to go after Angelina. He should have realized this. "But I know your team wasn't the KKK—you just worked for an extremist klan group as assassins at one point and used them as a clever cover up because no one can really trace KKK members. Calhourn and Warton were the bulk and you were the brains—your skin's unnatural color splotches shows me you were experimenting with DMSO. You placed it into the bath oil along with sodium cyanide and sent it as a 'grieving gift' for Shaw; as soon as it hit the water did its deadly toxins work against him. You snuck in through the window as he lay dying in the tub and shoved him beneath the water to drown him—"

"Clever, how did you know?" the man sniggered.

"I ran into Warton in disguise; when I said 'AYAK' he responded in confusion. He had no idea that was the acronym for 'are you a klansman' a secretive term used for KKK members—"

"What if it was changed?"

"A real klan member would have recognized it; you used it as a sheepskin to protect your true identity. What better way to stay secretive, since discovering klan members would be like looking for a needle in a hay stack. But you did do business with them; I saw from the file your list of assassinates—you wanted the files so no one would discover your hand in mysterious murders as well as give your employer a reference—"

"These deductions are all very interesting, but I should tell you something: The files and killings here was all for show! I needed to impress a potential employer and I have to tell you he's very impressed, especially since I killed her—ak!"

Holmes grabbed the man's throat again as his eyes burned. He heard the agents running up behind him.

"Holmes!" Gibbs barked. "Don't waste a bullet—"

"I won't use it to kill him," Sherlock growled, but stopped when he smelt the scent of vanilla. He turns around to see Angelina standing beside Gibbs: alive.

* * *

I roll as quickly as possible into the pit. I cover my head as the train screamed above me and my body shook from the powerful tremors. I prayed that I was going to live through this.

As soon as the train stopped. Trent yelled frantically to McGee. "Get them to move back!"

Tony grabbed Trent's arm. "Trent…"

"She's not dead!" he shouted at Tony. Tony followed him without argument. McGee runs into the train as quickly as he could.

Gibbs races over to Trent and Tony as the train moved back. He felt relief when he heard someone screaming. "Help!"

Gibbs and Trent leapt onto the track and saw Angelina looking up at them from the pit. Gibbs and Trent help her out. They all get off the track with help from Ziva, Ducky, and Tony.

* * *

Sherlock stared at me in shock as the man lying on the ground below me gaped:

"N-no; you're dead!"

I glare at the man as Sherlock struck his face. "Idiot," he spat as he got up.

I was surprised at Sherlock's actions as the man continued. "Get me outta here!"

Gibbs and everyone kept their weapons on him. Gibbs told him. "Don't worry, we'll be taking you straight to Scotland Yard."

The man gets up with his hands in the air as he madly glowers at me. "I don't care! Just get me away from here."

I step up to the man and watched him. "You killed him didn't you—"

"Yeah, yeah, I killed Johnathan Shaw; I'll tell you everything when we—"

I throw a punch into the man's throat; causing him to wheeze and drop to one leg, but no one stopped me.

Ziva pulls me away, and I go over to stand behind Trent. The man suddenly jumped up and ran away. A bullet shot through the air and hit the man in the chest, more shots hit the man until he fell to the ground. Everything happened so quickly. I was shoved to the ground and two people cover me with their own bodies. One was Sherlock, the other Trent. I listen as our side fired some shots at a rooftop; it was a sniper's hit. But they soon stopped. The sniper escaped…and our murderer was dead.

Trent grumbled to Sherlock. "Get your leg off of me; I have her covered."

"You have her smothered, as well as me, so you get off." Sherlock countered venomously.

I look at my brother and detective and tried not to laugh as Gibbs and John pulled both of them off me.

My laughter died as I saw the murderer lying on the sidewalk bleeding out. We were so close to finding the answers…

Everyone around me went into action to alert Scotland Yard and search for the sniper, who was probably long gone.

Sherlock notices my expression and tells me. "He confessed everything, as well as why he murdered Johnathan. He did it to impress a potential employer…he and his team wanted the disk as a reference." He gazes at me for a moment.

I nod as I peer at the body and then back at him. "You thought I was dead?"

Sherlock snorts and looked down at the corpse. "Yes." Sherlock remains silent for a moment, until he told me. "He was fortunate."

John was next to us and said. "He's dead Sherlock. How is that lucky?"

Sherlock doesn't answer as he gets out his phone to text Lestrade. I noticed something though, when he didn't answer John, that he peered at me for a moment. I understood the meaning of this glance: the man was lucky we showed up, he was lucky I was alive, and he was lucky he wasn't left alone to Sherlock.

It was just like Cobb was lucky I was taken off of the case, why Ari was lucky that Ziva killed him, why Paloma was lucky that she didn't have to face me. In that moment I finally understood Sherlock. I step up to him and grab his hand and squeezed it gratefully as I walked over to my team.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

**This part made me tear up...because it's so close to the end. Haha! Ya'll had to know I wouldn't kill the main character, I just can't do it guys, I'm sorry. I hope ya'll liked it. There are a couple chappies left and I'm thinking about doing more stories of Angelina Garrio. Tell me what you think, and thanks for reading and feel free to review. :) Sorryz for taking so long...I guess I was just too attached to the story to have it end so quickly. **


	23. Author Alert

**Ugh, can I just say how sorry I am? Ok, this is taking forever for 3 reasons(excuses):**

**1. School exams...I had to study.**

**2. My laptop crashed.**

** ending to this fan fic was on my laptop...and it's now dead and lost.**

**So, I am typing and typing this ending up. I also just had a inspiration to add a twist, but I'm not sure. I need your help. Please vote on the poll in my profile whether or not you want me to add the twist, which would lead to a sequel of a NCIS-Sherlock crossover. PM me for any comments and/or questions. Again, I am so sorry, this story wasn't the only one I lost. I hope you can forgive me. I am working hard to get this done. Thank you all for reading and reviewing! :)**

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**


	24. Chapter 23: Photo Finish

The murder of Taylor Hudson, the chemist, was pronounced as a cold case by Scotland Yard. Gibbs hated to leave loose ends; leaving London was breaking his rule: #45. But when it came down to it they decided to listen to their director and go home by Trent's wise counsel. "Rule 11, let's get Angel home."

They were at the airport, and Trent didn't leave his sister's side, and when he did, he made sure to have Ziva with her 24/7. He was sure Angel was annoyed with this arrangement, but he told her. "I'm not taking you home in a body bag, so deal with it."

They were all tired and aching to go back home. McGee was busy talking to Abby and Palmer on his phone, while Tony reminisced about getting back to his apartment to Ziva, who would give him her two-cents on the matter. Gibbs and Ducky conversed calmly, as Trent was sitting next to Angel, reading. They were waiting for their flight, but Angel was waiting for someone else.

I waited impatiently for John and Sherlock to see me off. I was going to miss them, and Mrs. Hudson and Molly. Despite the fact I knew them for a short time, they were great people who have sheltered and saved me when I was alone…ugh, I hate getting so emotional. I saw our flight was going to leave soon and wondered if we could catch the next one…no…it was time to go home…I suddenly see someone out of the corner of my eye. John, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. I jump out of my chair and race over to them as my team followed me closely. I embrace John tightly. "Thanks for seeing me off." I told them. As I grasp Mrs. Hudson's hands and then hugged Molly.

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Well, I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye now can I?" She hugged me and said. "If you ever come back, be sure to drop by and see me dear."

"I will Mrs. Hudson, thanks for everything."

Molly smiles at me and says. "Thank you, for saving my life—I never really got to thank you, so thank you."

I smile back. "No problem Molly, maybe I'll drop by the morgue sometime."

"Oh I hope not!" Molly joked and I laugh with her as Trent frowned.

I turn to John and tell him. "I'm going to miss you too John. Thank you for everything. Take care of Sherlock will ya? And let him know how grateful I am for his help."

"You can tell him yourself, he was just outside having a smoke, ah, there he is." John smirked as Sherlock walked over to them.

Molly whispered to Mrs. Hudson. "I thought he was supposed to quit?"

"He probably needed it dear." Mrs. Hudson told her.

I grin as I walked up to Sherlock. "You made it!"

Sherlock smirked wryly. "Apparently."

I smile and then told him. "Thank you, for everything…You really helped me Sherlock…"

Sherlock nodded as he stared down at me patiently. "Hopefully you could come and visit sometime, there are a number of cases you could help with."

"Dangerous ones?" I ask playfully.

John steps up to us and smiled. "What else?"

I laugh as I nod. "Yeah, I like it here, maybe I'll come back one day." I gaze at the new friends I made and remembered everything we went through together. I clear my throat."I'll miss you all."

Gibbs walks up and holds out his hand to John. John shakes it as he said. "It was great working with you and your team sir."

Gibbs nods with a small grin. He then turns to Sherlock. Sherlock looks down at the hand, but finally takes it. "It was an honor to work with you all Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs smirked as we all gaped in astonishment. "It was great working with you too Holmes."

As Ziva and the rest of the gang said their goodbyes and left to get on the plane, I was about to follow them, but stopped and grabbed a slip of paper from my pocket. It had my cell phone number on it. I turn back around and give it to John. "If you guys want to call and keep in touch." I smile at them fondly as they agreed to call me tomorrow. Sherlock stayed silent and watched me with a small smile. When they were leaving, I grabbed Sherlock's hand. He turned around in surprise as I told him. "Sherlock, remember Code X?"

He raised his eyebrows and nods.

"Good." I give his hand a squeeze as I turned and hurried after my team to go home.

* * *

Sherlock repressed a frustrated sigh when he saw his brother standing in the hall of the airport. Mycroft was staring out the window at the planes taking off, like he had nothing better to do, but Sherlock knew why he was there.

He approached him, only to have his older brother say. "You're back to smoking."

Sherlock asked. "Here to make sure Angelina and NCIS leave?"

His brother chuckled. "No, I'm actually here to talk to you."

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, I don't have time."

Mycroft turns to him. "I didn't even say what I wanted to talk to you about yet."

"Let me rephrase that." Sherlock tells him. "I do have time, but I don't want to waste it listening to your hypocrisies."

"It's about the girl."

Sherlock lets out his sigh of annoyance. "Subtle, but I already know what you have to say, so you honestly don't have to repeat yourself."

Mycroft gives Sherlock an annoyed glare.

Sherlock tells him. "I find skipping your argument introduction saves time." He's distracted as a plane flies off into the air.

Mycroft looks back out the window. "You know, this is similar to that charming little American story, Sherlock. Dorothy finds her way home with the help of you the tin man. The man without a heart, and his sidekick the brainless scarecrow."

"If I'm the tin man that must make you the clever wizard behind the curtain; making everyone fall for your tricks." Sherlock responded coldly.

"I'm not the one falling into a trap; you are. Just like with Irene; you found someone who intrigues you, show off to her, and then you feel the possessive urge to actually care. Tell me why Sherlock; after witnessing Irene lose the game due to her mistake of caring for you that you would repeat the same blunder?" Mycroft looks down at his brother sternly.

"I'm not." Sherlock snapped.

"Oh but you are Sherlock, and she will be your downfall, just like you were Irene's error. You should have distanced yourself Sherlock."

Sherlock was finished having this conversation, and turned on his heel to leave. He scoffed the last word as he walked away. "And you should return to your diet, brother."

* * *

I couldn't sleep at all and squirmed in my seat. I was tired of looking out the plane's window, and my scars were bothering me again. I peer at my brother who was listening to his Ipod. He senses me staring at me, and gives me grin and snort like he was dealing with a little kid. "Bored?"

"I want to see the others." I complain as I crane my neck to see Ducky sitting beside Ziva a couple rows ahead of us, and the two T's were sitting in the middle row to our right.

Trent shakes his head. "After everything you went through, don't you want to go to sleep?"

I grin wryly. "Nope…after everything that happened I want to stay awake as long as I can."

My brother's brow crinkled as he gazed at me sadly. I sigh. "Don't worry, I'm alright."

Trent chewed the inside of his cheek. "Yeah…but I still worry sis."

I lift my hand and gently comb my fingers through his black hair; I remember always playing with his hair as a child and he would whine about me messing up his hair. "Your hair's getting longer."

Trent smirked. "Yeah, a lot has changed since you left."

I frown and take my hand away. "Yeah. You still want to know why I left, huh?"

He stared into my dark eyes with his own. "We all want to know why."

I nod. "Later, I promise I'll tell you later." I stand up and squeeze passed him and into the aisle.

I walk over and see Tony and Tim were arguing about something. As I passed Ducky, I lean over and kiss his cheek as I placed a loving hand on Ziva's head. Ducky smiled at me as Ziva pats my hand. I finally make over to my boys and sit in the empty seat between them. I close my eyes and lay my head on Tony's shoulder. He lifts his arm and drapes it around me. Tim asked. "Tired?"

"Exhausted…" I muttered.

Tony nods, but suddenly sniffed my hair. "You smell like men's shampoo—is this Sherlock's?"  
I moan and smack his shoulder as I sat up. I lean against Tim instead, and nestled into his shoulder.

Tony laughed as Tim tried to move make me more comfortable. Tony then asks. "So…it is Sherlock's shampoo?"

I grumble. "What else was I going to use?"

"Did you share anything else, Angel?" Tony teased me; wanting his curiosity and humor satisfied.

Tim sighed. "Really Tony? They didn't do anything—"

I grinned devilishly, but kept my eyes shut. "A bed."

McGee froze uncomfortably, as DiNozzio exclaimed. "Seriously?"

I decided to keep messing with them. "Only once, and I unfortunately kept him up most of the night." That wasn't a total lie; we did spend a lot of time talking…luckily, I know Tim and Tony would take it the wrong way.

I could just imagine Tim's eyes bugging out in shock, and Tony's jaw going slack. I chuckled. "You asked."

I open my eyes to see I was correct, and ask innocently. "What's wrong Tony?"

Tony lets out a choking noise before speaking. "You two—really—how?"

I smirk at him and shake my head as I closed my eyes again.

Tim tells me. "Hey Angel, you better move to another seat."

"Why?" I murmured.

"Well, you're sitting in the chair of a very cranky Marine who enjoys giving out head slaps." Tony explained.

I smile. "I'm not afraid of him like you two are."

Tony laughs. "Afraid? Oh come on, I'm not scared of Gibbs—" I hear Tony instantly stops as McGee sat up straighter. "—But I do have the upmost respect for him, because he is the greatest leader I've ever served."

I open my eyes and see Gibbs standing over us with an unfathomable expression. He nods to me. "You're in my seat."

"Yeah, what're you going to do about it?" I inquired as Tim looked between us nervously.

Gibbs smirked, but tells the boys. "Up."

Tim and Tony instantly stand up. Uncle Jethro sits beside me in Tim's chair. McGee asks. "Um, boss, where are we going to sit?"

Gibbs puts an arm around me. "You and DiNozzio will sit with Trent."

"But he only has one seat—" Tim began, but stopped as Tony rushed passed him to get the spare seat. McGee chased after him as the two tried to push passed Trent, who tried to shove them away from him.

I giggled at their antics. Gibbs looks down at me and orders. "Go to sleep Angel. We'll be home soon."

I let my head fall against his shoulder and exhaled. "Ok…'night Uncle Jethro." I soon drifted into sleep—letting my dreams take me.

I stir when Uncle Jethro's voice rumbled through the darkness. "Time to wake up."

I open and blinked my eyes to see my team getting up and waiting for us. I sit up and stretch carefully. I stand—my skin on my legs prickled as the blood started flowing through my numb limbs once more. I stumble and Ziva rushed over to me and holds onto me. I shook my head. "It's alright—my legs are asleep—that's all."

Ziva doesn't let go of my arm as we make it out of the plane.

We finally got our luggage, and start walking out. I tried to carry my own things…but Trent simply wrenched my suitcases out of my grasp and carried them for me. I walk arm and arm with Ducky and Ziva; trying to convince them to let me help them with their luggage, but they were adamant about me taking it easy. I rolled my eyes, but Gibbs's gaze told me not to argue with them and so I allowed it…this time.

We were rounding a corner when I was tackled. I gasp as a black pony tail smacked me in the face and arms encircle me into a tight hug. Abby shrieked. "Angel! I knew they'd bring you back."

I hold Abby as I felt surprised and glad that she was here. "Abby!"

She pulls back to look at me and removes her hands nervously. "Are you ok? Do you have jet-lag?"

I laugh and shook my head and embraced her. "God, I missed you."

I suddenly see Palmer was standing behind her. "Jimmy!" I let go of Abby and hugged Jimmy tightly. Abby was now able to tackle everyone else in hugs and greetings.

Jimmy stumbled back as he held onto me. "Angel, hey!"

I smile up at him and hold his face. "Thank you for watching Abby."

Jimmy smiled. "It was no problem; how was London?"

Everyone behind me became silent and I could feel their stares bore into me. "It was…" I finally answer. "It was a hell of a trip."

When we walk into the parking lot I see Jimmy and Abby brought their cars. Gibbs, Trent, Ziva, and I get into Abby's car as the other go into Jimmy's. When Abby started driving, I ask her. "Abby, can we stop here?" I show her the address.

Abby bites her lip. "Um…sure." She turns on a different street as Trent and Ziva gaze at me questionably, but Gibbs gives me a knowing glance. Abby pulls into a residential neighborhood. She finally pulls over in front of the house. I stare at the white house with the dark green shutters…I remember Johnny's parties at the old house. I step out of the car and when Trent tried to follow me, uncle Jethro held him back.

I slowly walk up the pathway and to the dark green door. I take a deep breath. This was always the worst part of the job…it was something that you could never really get over…I ring the doorbell. I wait.

The door opens; revealing an old woman with Johnny's blue eyes. She had her grey-blonde hair tied back and her eyes were red and puffy. "Yes?" She asked; not recognizing me after so many years.

"Mrs. Shaw." I began feeling the lump form in my throat. "You may want to sit down."

* * *

Trent watched from the window as Angel was talking to the older woman. The woman threw a hand over her mouth and shuddered as she fell to her knees, but Angel caught her and helped her inside.

Ziva watches with him. "That was his mother, wasn't it?"

Trent nods.

Abby stares at the house sadly. "She shouldn't have to tell her by herself."

Gibbs answered. "No, but she needed to."

Ziva agrees. "It's best that someone who knew victim to convey the news…"

Trent sighed. "But they both suffer from it."

They watch as Angel shut the door behind her and walked back to the car, while rubbing her eyes. She gets in and they saw she had been crying. Abby gazed at her friend. "Angel…?"

Angel shook her head as she whispered. "Please drive Abby."

Abby does as she was told the car remained silent as they went on their way.

* * *

I felt weaker when I got out of the car and we all went up to Gibbs's place. "Drinks on me."

He told us, which was new. I see Jimmy's car was already there. Gibbs walks in when the smell of apple and cinnamon hit me. I knew that perfume anywhere. I run into the kitchen to see my parents and siblings. "Surprise!" My sisters and brother shout.

I laughed out tears as Rosie hugged my legs and Allie and Armondo steadied me. The kids then race over to Trent and Jethro. My parents embrace me tightly, as my mom tried not to cry and my dad was rocking me back and forth in a bear hug. I turn to my friends and Trent—wondering who set this up. Trent points to Abby who was grinning happily. Jimmy hands me a beer and I gladly take it and gave Abby another hug before I sit on the couch between Tim and Tony.

Abby and Allie sat at my feet and chatted, while Trent talked to our mom as he held Rosie on his shoulders. Ducky, Jimmy, and my dad were in deep discussion about mummies for some reason. Ziva was standing with Gibbs in the kitchen and Armondo was telling them everything he could think of to impress his heroes. I sigh in content as Tony was telling Tim and me about _It's a Wonderful Life._

I sit up when I hear my phone ring. I get up from the couch and go into the hall. I see it's an unknown number and answer it. "Hello?"

"Angelina?" I hear Sherlock's voice break through.

I blink and shake my head in surprise. "Sherlock?!" I didn't expect a call; maybe a text, but not a call.

Sherlock answers. "Yes it's me. How—how are you?"

I smile. "Great—I mean, how are you?"

"I wanted to make sure you made it home." He tells me; ignoring my question at first. "I'm fine; bored though."

I chuckle. "Already?"

"Of course. There's nothing to do around here…"

I grin. "How's John?"

"He's out with his new girlfriend." He explains.

We stay silent for a moment until I told him. "I'm glad you called."

"Well, with everything that's happened—I had to make sure you didn't run into anymore trouble."

I snort. "I should say the same thing about you Sherlock."

I hear a chuckle crackle through my phone.

I listen happily and thought. "I miss that…" I froze when I realized I said that outloud—crap!

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "Really?" He sounded amused.

I bit my lip. "Well—I miss London…and I—"

"Do you miss me?" I could hear the smile in his voice.

"No!"

"So you are glad to be rid of me?"

"No!"

"Which is it?"

It was like we were in the same room. "What about you?"

Sherlock doesn't answer, but finally tells me. "You should be able to figure it out."

I grit my teeth and tell him. "It would be ridiculous if I missed you like—like you're my friend. We've only known each other for three days. It would be illogical if I felt like I'm going to miss you!"

"Yes." He agrees.

I felt a little put off by his answer and frowned. "Right…"

"It's absolutely illogical for either of us to 'miss' each other when we've barely established a social bond. Especially when we will be in touch."

"What?" I ask.

"I need to go, Lestrade is calling—I'll text you later."

A smile returns to my face. "Yeah, bye Sherlock." I hear an amused snort as the phone clicks off.

I stare at the phone as a reel of Sherlock went through my head. I laugh to myself—extremely happy for some reason. I walk back to the doorway to see Ziva was teasing Tony and McGee was listening to Abby with Allie. Jimmy, Ducky, and Trent had wandered over to watch the exchange as my family was close behind. I smile at the scene; I never realized how much I missed them…then I noticed he was missing. I sneak over to the table and grab a couple of beers as I walk downstairs to the basement.

* * *

Sherlock hangs up the phone before the conversation became too…intimate. However, he wasn't lying about texting her; he will keep in touch. He grabbed his violin and tuned it before placing the bow to the strings. He started playing "The Scientist". He kept on playing when John came in. John noticed the music and smiled. "You miss her?"

Sherlock ignores him as he stood up and continued playing while turning his back to him.

John takes out his phone. "Well, I'm going to call her; see if she had a safe trip. Do you want to talk to her—"

"No." Sherlock answered. "She's fine."

John tilts his head in confusion. "What?" He then grinned. "You called her?"

Sherlock ignores him once more as he strummed the song louder.

John continued to smile. "You. Called. Her. You didn't text?"

Sherlock bowed the chorus over John's questions.

"What did she say?" John inquired.

"She was wondering how you were."

"Anything else?"

Sherlock closed his eyes as he played. "She misses London."

John looked confused for moment, but then gives Sherlock a knowing glance. "You mean she misses you?"

Sherlock peered at him. "Perhaps."

"Do you miss her?"

Sherlock missed a note, but continues to play. "Did you write your blog yet?"

John grinned and tells him. "Yep; I named it _The Seeds of Murder._"

Sherlock plays until he reaches the end. He then sets down his instrument and grabs John's laptop. He goes onto the blog, raising a brow that John wasn't complaining about him using his computer. He reads the blog and nods. "Not too bad."

John tried not to look surprised; Sherlock always had a few harsh criticisms on his blogs.

His eyes narrow. "For God Sakes, do you blog everything?"

"Angel said I could blog whatever I wanted." John tells him with a smirk.

Sherlock shook his head as he gives John the laptop, and his phone beeped with a text. Sherlock checks his phone, and then gets on his trench. "Come along John!"

"There's no way that there is a case this early!" He complained as he puts away his laptop and followed.

"I know; how could we be so lucky?" Sherlock chuckled in excitement as they raced out the door.

* * *

I walk down to where Gibbs was sanding the side of the boat. I may have never been great at carpentry, but I always loved the smell. I wince as I walk over the spot Ari was killed by Ziva—feeling the creeping memory of seeing his corpse there. I smile at Uncle Jethro and hand him a beer. He takes it. "You know I have my own stuff down here."

I shrug as I sat down on the stool. "I thought you would enjoy a cold one for once." I look at the boat. "Shelooks great."

Gibbs nods as he sips the beer.

I try to open my beer and groan in frustration. Jethro takes the bottle from me and opened it. He hands it back to me. I take it. "Thank you…pathetic, I can't even open a damn bottle." I was suddenly reminded of Gibbs's talking about breaking bottles and moving the boats out his basement by removing a wall.

He answers. "Naw, you just needed a little help." He grabs the sander and sands once more. I watch him as I remembered all the times I saw him sand. Especially with Trent, when he was little. Trent actually picked up wood-working from our God-Father. Me, well, I was only good at painting wood, and Gibbs would always sit down here and talk as we painted. I enjoyed sanding though, Gibbs would always show me how to guide the sander and gave me some encouragement…just like when I was on the team. He asks me. "You want to talk about it?"

I shook my head. "Not really…I should go to Dr. Cranston and let her know I'm alive…" I take a deep breath. "It's been a long…whatever the hell that was."

Gibbs listens as he sands.

I drink some more beer as I tell him. "I just wish—that there was more I could do…"

Gibbs looks at me. "We both know that that isn't possible."

I nod. "Right…I just thought…I thought I would lead a normal life…"

Gibbs stops sanding and watches me as I squirm uncomfortably. "I mean…after everything…I miss NCIS so much…"

Uncle Jethro nods. "So what now?"

I shrug. "No clue…But this case…it reminded me how I need you all…how I can't really move away from NCIS…" I laugh darkly. "I guess it wasn't really memories holding me back…it was the thrill…my love for being an agent…"

He sits beside me. "Yeah."

I bit my lip. "Thanks, for coming to get me—"

He interrupts me. "That's what family does." He looks into my eyes solemnly. "It's what we're always going to do—"

"But I left you guys—"

He stands and makes me stand to face him. "Hey. You've always showed up and risked your life for us. You were always the first to volunteer for a job or help out—strange as that is. And when any one of us are in danger—nothing stops you." He tells me. "Leaving doesn't mean you can get rid of us. Ziva left and you went with me to rescue her. Tony was thought to be dead, but you pushed on to find him. When Tim was stuck in the basement, you always visited him didn't you? When I retired, you never left me alone." He smirked at her. "Did you?"

I sniff as I remember every detail. You could say what you like about Gibbs being gruff and impatient, but he always knew what to say. "Why do you always coddle me?" I ask him while rubbing my eyes.

He smiled as he tapped my head. "Because you're the baby of the family." He goes back to sand the boat.

"Thanks." I snort.

"Come on and give me a hand." He orders. I grab a sander and work on the other side and after a while of peacefully sanding I ask. "Did you think of a color to paint this?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Got any ideas?"

I nod as I go over to my purse and open it. I bring out my journal and my tin of watercolor pencils. I bring out a silvery-blue and some green and mix them together and show the color to Jethro. "What do you think?"

Gibbs peers at the color and smirks when he recognized where he saw it before. "Looks good."

I smile and go back to sanding with Gibbs. Inside my head I could hear the imaginary video camera recording, but I focus on Uncle Jethro's face and imagined a camera, like our crime-scene cameras, taking a photo of his peaceful expression and amused grin. I could imagine the "thhpp" of the photo being taken and a black and white picture.

* * *

**Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Thanks to those who voted. This story won't have a sequel. But maybe I'll write about some past escapades of Trent and Angel in NCIS...not anytime soon though. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I loved combining two of my favorite sleuth shows and characters. I hope that I did the characters justice. I enjoyed writing this story so much! I hope that you all enjoyed it as well.**

**I thought now would be a good time to give some background of why I wrote this. One day I was reading Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries:The Five Orange Pips. I was really getting into the story b/c (spoiler alert)**

**It was one of the first cases when Sherlock loses his clients only after a matter of hours from meeting him. Sherlock and Watson became set on finding and bringing the murderers of their client to justice. I was so hyped...until I read the end. The killers weren't found and they were simply killed by a ship wreck. I was so annoyed with this cop out; I wanted a cooler ending. I also wanted to write a NCIS and Sherlock fan-fic. So I created this fan-fic.**

**Angel and Trent have been oc.'s that I would tell my brother about. Trent is inspired by my brother, and Angelina's character I just came up with one day for my NCIS fan-fics I planned on writing. **

**I remember watching the "Swan's Song" episode of NCIS; I was crushed. So I decided the one way for Angel to meet Sherlock is to resign from NCIS because of that incident. **

**Also, I've been researching Hyperthymesia before this story and it intrigued me. Also the fact that the media doesn't mention the draw backs of the syndrome. I thought it would be interesting to have a character with this syndrome and show the details of it. **

**I just had a lot fun writing this and thanks again for reading! :)**


	25. Epilogue

I send Sherlock another text:

**You're usually the one who texts for attention; what's up? Please text me!**

Abby walks into our small kitchen area. She grabs my arm and pulls me out of the apartment. Once we are in her car she asks. "So, how is your brilliant detective?"

"The news said he went to court to face Jim Moriarty. From his texts I found out Jim is deadly—Sherlock's been trying grasp anything to put him behind bars. And Moriarty was acquitted." I lean back against the passenger seat. "He would usually text me about these things…but whenever I bring it up—he ignores it or texts "laterz"."

Abby smirked. "I can't believe you're waiting by the phone."

"No I'm not." I argued.

Abby grinned as she drove. "You so are."

I groan and stretched my arms. "I wonder what mysteries we have to solve today…If Tony cracks one more Probie joke about me I will go off."

Abby hummed. "Who knows."

I roll down the window and let the wind cool us down. "This June is too hot Abby…"

"Heat waves suck."

I see McGee was on the computer as usual—staring at the screen in both shock and confusion. I skip over to him to see what he was reading. "What's going on Tim? Lost another game—"

I stop when I see the article:

**SHERLOCK'S A FAKE: THE SHOCKING TRUTH** "He invented all the crimes" **(Close Friend Richard Brook Tells All)** - **Exclusive** From Kitty _Riley_

"What the hell?" I begin reading the article.

McGee tries to comfort me. "They're saying all the crimes he solved were fakes—staged. But we all that that's not true."

"Try telling Scotland Yard that." I kept reading as memories of Sherlock flashed through my head. I then walk away swiftly.

"Angel!" McGee calls after me as he tried to follow me.

I went into the girl's room before he could catch up. I called Sherlock's number. I wait, until I was sent to voicemail:

"Sherlock. Please call me. I just saw the article by Kitty Riley. Why didn't you tell me? I can help you—I know you would never stage any crimes. Please call me back—" I then sigh. "If you don't I am going to get a ticket, get on a plane, and fly to London whether you like it or not." I close the phone and rub my temple. "When did I become a stalker?"

* * *

The day was stressful to say the least. A Navel psychologist dead. Dr. Cranston and Ryan were on the case…and it was a nightmare. I was overjoyed when I didn't have to deal with my overly concerned psychologist being over my shoulder. Abby and I were about to go into our apartment when my phone started ringing. I quickly snatch my phone from my purse and saw it was Sherlock. I answer eagerly and nod for Abby to walk in.

"Sherlock?" I ask hopefully.

"Angelina." His voice answered tiredly.

My shoulders drop in relief as my old scars tingled from the movement. "How are you?"

I hear a snort. "Who showed you the article?" Of course he wouldn't dwell on emotions. "I know you're too impatient to try to research anything on me."

"McGee, do you remember him?"

"Yes…"

He sounded exhausted. I felt worry consume me again."Sherlock what's happening?"

"Do you think that article was true?"

"No. I told you on the voicemail I didn't believe any of it. If you need me to come down there and help—"

"No, I've already been arrested."

"What!" I lean against the wall.

"Obviously I got away…Moriarty is pretending to be Richard Brookes…everything is pointing to me being a fake…" There was silence.

"I'm sure John doesn't believe that." I told him.

"Of course he doesn't." Sherlock murmured. I could hear he was going up some stairs for a while now.

I wanted to help him…I wish I could do something. "Sherlock, tell me what you need. I can help you. I'm worried about you…"

"Don't waste your time worrying. There is something you can do."

"What is it?"

"Don't call me, don't text me, don't try search for me, don't go onto John's blog, and stay away from London."

I felt the disbelief buzz through me. "Sherlock—what the hell? I'm trying to help—if you shut me out—"

"Goodbye Angel." He ends the call.

I stare at my phone in shock. Did that just happen?

* * *

The next day I get up and walk into the kitchen groggily. Abby sees me—she was ready to go to work. She tosses me an orange. I catch it and peel it slowly.

Abby notices my mood. "What happened?"

"He shut me out—told me not to contact him anymore." I sigh. "He always manages to piss me off—but this is unbelievable."

Abby hugs me from behind. "It'll be okay. Do you want to see a movie tonight?"

"Can it be that new Tim Burton movie?"

"What else?" Abby asked cheerfully.

There was a knock on the door. Abby opens it. "Trent!" She embraces him.

I go up to my brother. "Abby and I want to catch a movie tonight—" I stop when I see the expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

Trent tells me. "Come on."

He leads me to a chair, but I tear away from him. "What. Is. Wrong?" I didn't like how familiar this was—different scenes play out in my memory.

Trent looks down at me sadly. "Angel. I'm sorry."

"For what!" I step up to my brother. "Why are you sorry?"

Trent finally tells me in a low voice, like he was trying not to scare me. "McGee called me…he told me, and I thought it would be better if I told you in person…"

"Tell me what's going on now." I snapped—I was terrified.

"Sherlock is dead." Trent holds onto my shoulders like I was going to fall.

I stare up at him…I heard him wrong—I had to. "What?"

"Sherlock committed suicide. He—"

"What!" I grab onto his shirt and gave him a shake. "Tell me."

Trent looked down at me and sighed. "He jumped off St. Bart's hospital roof…" Trent continued to stare at me and so did Abby.

I could just imagine it…I move away from him and out the door. They followed me.

"Angel! Angel!" Trent and Abby grabbed me.

I shook them off. "Get off! I need to go."

"Go where?" Abby asked.

"To work." I glare at them—they didn't get it.

"No, there's no way you can go to work in this state." Trent told me

"I'm fine." I growled. I didn't want to stand around and remember…I needed to keep moving before I broke down.

"No, one of your friends just died—"

"What else is new!" I shout at him; I felt like I was falling over…no I was standing straight and tall. "I can't—I'm going to be late—"

I get into the car before they could stop me and drove away as fast as I could. I drove and drove until I turned into a parking lot of some bookstore. I park the car and sit there. The memories of the case, every conversation, every text raced through my mind. I kept on seeing his face and heard his voice echo through my head. I bit my lip as a tear escaped. I wipe it away violently. I couldn't help it. I opened my phone. I tried calling him…but I was told that the number no longer existed. I then searched about Sherlock Holmes and found so many things…until I found a Youtube video someone took…I watch it. After two tourists were laughing at the screen—they stopped and focused the camera on the roof of Bart's…Sherlock stood there…then he spread out his arms…

"No Sherlock." I whisper.

He fell forward waving his arms as if it would slow the fall…then I couldn't see him hit the ground…because of a truck…The camera shook as it approached the sidewalk…bits of Sherlock showed through the throng of people surrounding him…bloodied face…limp body. I saw John was there…holding his wrist…Sherlock was dead.

I drop the phone into my lap and squeezed my eyes shut. I panted and held onto the steering wheel. "This can't happen…dammit…" I felt like I was going to throw up…after a while the shock wore off—I felt numb.

"I can't believe how you're acting." My eyes ripped open in disbelief when I heard that all too familiar voice.

I turn around and saw Sherlock was sitting in the back seat…Face clean like I remembered it…

I stare at him and he raised his eyebrows at me. "Aren't you a bit old to believe in ghosts?"

I nod. "I need this though…ok…" A laugh burst out with a few tears as I stared at him. I could really see him as if he was alive. I finally ask. "Why?"

Sherlock sighed in frustration. "For God's sakes, I can't tell you—you could never understand."

"I…do…understand. You think I never thought about it…how easy it could be to jump off a building…" I shook my head in anger at him for leaving me behind—for ending his life so quickly. "Why did you take that damn step…did this happen right after we talked?"

He impatiently scolds me. "You already know—stop wasting your time asking."

I gaze at him. "What about John. You left your best friend…"

Sherlock leans forward placing his fingers together. "Stop stalling. You're hesitating in asking the real questions that bother you because you don't want to admit that you've been thinking of them for a while."

I gulped and then leaned over the seat so I was face-to-face with him. "What was I to you? A friend?…I heard you don't have friends…what am I, Sherlock?"

"That is simple; you're Angelina Garrio. Don't you remember?" He lifts an eyebrow at me saucily.

I snort a laugh. "Even as a figment…you're an ass…" I nod as I tried not to cry. "I'll miss that so much…"

His voice lowered into a whisper. "You're wondering if I cared about you."

I bit my lip. "You didn't…you did…we'll never know now…" I have flashbacks of my friends…how they went through this…like Ziva with Roy Sanders…Tony and Dana Hutton…Tim and Amanda…

Sherlock stares at me silently with those amazing eyes. "Move on Angelina. There's no point in mourning for me…we've only known each other in such a short time."

"You still mourned Irene…John told me about it…" I wish he was here…I wish this was real.

"Irrational isn't it?" He asked me with a dry smirk.

"Very…I'll miss you Sherlock." I blink and see he's gone. I swallow the lump in my throat as I start up the engine and drove to NCIS…

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I wanted to add this bit about Sherlock's apparent death...I was wondering if I should do this as a one-shot, but I thought putting this in a epilogue would be cooler. R&R please. Thanks for reading!**


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